


Blue Blood

by damnovaks, kansasbound



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Blue Blood, Cigarettes, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire, Firefighter Castiel, Firefighter Dean, Firefighters, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Trains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-10 10:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnovaks/pseuds/damnovaks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kansasbound/pseuds/kansasbound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t matter the atmosphere, the time of day, or the month of the year; trains don’t stop for anyone or anything. Dean Winchester is certainly not an exception to that fact. Trains begin to come to a halt two to three miles away from their destination to make a smooth stop, but a train doesn’t have two miles ahead of it to stop from colliding with a foolish twenty six year old man that happens to waltz onto a train track out of the blue. The only thing that held Dean back from reaching a raging train was a single steady hand gripping his flannel from behind. </p><p>The hand belonged to Cas; all Cas ever wanted in his life was to save someone. He longed to feel such a way after everything came tumbling down around him, and after saving Dean, it was as though he was able to breathe again - literally.</p><p>The passing train reeked of gasoline and exhaust as it passed, the odor polluting Cas’ sense of smell. Once the train had disappeared down the track, however, Cas’ nose was filled with a scent of bliss - one that could only tell him that after finally saving someone, he had the ability to breathe again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much to Kelsey (kansasbound) for helping me write this! I don't know a whole lot about firefighters and everything like that, so I apologize if I happen to get something wrong! Enjoy! :-)

_“ You've got the blood on your hands, I know it's my own._

_You came at me in the middle of the night to show me my soul._

_Of all the people, I hoped it'd be you._

_To come and free me, take me away._

_To show me my home. ”_

-Blue Blood, Foals

When Cas was younger, all that he wanted to do was save people. Even the slightest thought of being the reason for someone being able to continue breathing, to continue living their life as they deserve to, made Cas ecstatic. He’d save tiny insects from time to time when he was younger, making sure that even the smallest of living creatures had their chance at survival.

His brothers and sister always thought it was odd that he was so caught up in saving things, such as a small toad that was hopping along through their family picnic when he was six. He had picked up the toad, cupped a hand over the small four legged creature, and marched him to safety. Cas set him down in a small area farthest from the picnic, where nobody would walk so that he wouldn’t accidentally be stepped on by Cas’ family members. His family unfortunately had nearly no regard for life, unless it was a human being.

Even when Cas found out that the toad had peed in the palm of his hand, he surely made a fit out of it when he was six, but at the age of twenty seven, he realized just how important that was. Normally, nobody would ever think a toad pissing in your palm was an important thing to remember. They would curse, and scrub their hand furiously to get rid of the toad urine completely. To Cas, however, it was an eye opener.

It showed him that even though you’re able to save someone, often times something is left behind. Usually, a good and pleasant feeling was left behind when you just so happened to save someone, and other times, something that cannot be washed away so easily was left behind - especially when you were unable to save someone.

Cas wished he would’ve recognized that sooner.

It’s a sunny day, a small and comforting breeze rolling along Cas’ bare arms even in the ninety degree summer weather of Farmington, Missouri. The red brick wall of the fire station is warm under the press of his back, arms crossed over his chest as he stares out at the blur of passing cars. The smell of cigarette smoke is fresh under his nose, a reminder that he’s still breathing as his best friend of four years, Jeffery, exhales beside him.

“You know,” Cas begins, tearing his eyes away from the street to look at his friend. “If you keep lighting up as frequently as you do, you’ll die a lot quicker.”

Jeff huffs into a fit of laughter, smoke puffing out in various different directions as he laughs. “Ah, Cas. Always had too much heart when it came to caring for other people, didn’t you?”

Cas rolls his eyes at Jeff’s immaturity, instead shifting on the wall to cross one of his legs over the other, feet still pressing into the gravel.

“Is it so wrong to be worried for my friend’s health?”

Jeff shrugs a shoulder, rolling it as he averts his eyes away from Cas to look off in a different direction. He places the cigarette back between his lips, taking a long drag and holding it for just a few moments, before tugging the cigarette away and exhaling it through his nose like a dragon.

“No, but I’ve got nobody to stick around forever for, you know?” Jeff asks rhetorically once he finishes blowing the smoke from his nose. “Not like you, lover boy.”

Jeff elbows Cas’ bicep with a grin, making him lose his balance just slightly. Once Cas is balanced again, he can only shake his head with the faint trace of a smile on his lips as he pulls his hand down from his chest to look at the silver band on his ring finger.

His fiancée, Emily, is truthfully someone to want to stick around longer for. There were nights when Cas would come home from a tiring day at the station, being gone since three in the morning, to find Emily cooking away in the kitchen for the two of them. He’d sneak up behind her and wrap his arms around Emily’s waist as she was stirring a pot of sauce, stew, or whatever was sitting on the burner, having to dip down just slightly to rest his chin on her shoulder because of how much shorter she was than Cas. Emily would blush and laugh quietly as though something was funny, and Cas would tease her for her bright pink cheeks before pressing a loving kiss to both of them.

Emily would shoo him away with a bright smile on her plump pink lips, often times using the dish rag to slap at him when he wouldn’t leave the kitchen to allow her to finish dinner. Cas would merely laugh like a teenage boy in love, and walk off into the living room. Usually, he’d find his daughter, Claire, sitting in a circle of toys just in front of the couch as the television played in front of her. There was really never a set show that she’d be watching because Claire would jump from show to show, _Bear in the Big Blue House_ being her absolute favorite.

Cas would always sneak up on the three year old, causing her to squeal a loud “Daddy!” and charge toward him. His lips would crack into the largest of smiles as he scooped her up under her armpits, spinning the blonde little girl in the air for a few moments as she shrieked with laughter, before letting her plop down into his arms.

Claire would babble on and on about what she’d done that day or just a mix of the thoughts running through her head, often times making Cas bark out a laugh at just how ridiculous her fantasies could be. If there was one thing in the world that could take all of the stress off of Cas’ shoulders, it would be his little girl.

Once Emily had finished cooking dinner, he’d set Claire up in her highchair which was next to the small table where Cas and Emily sat across from each other. Before eating what Emily had cooked that night, they’d take each others hands and shut their eyes, allowing one of them to say a small prayer of thanks before they ate. It was one of Cas’ most favorite things to do, because if there was anything Cas was thankful for, it was his daughter and his fiancée.

“Just because you don’t have someone now doesn’t mean you won’t have someone later, Jeff.” Cas promises, and before Jeff can get another word out, the loud sirens begin to blare through the station, causing both Cas and Jeff to jerk off the wall in surprise. Jeff tosses his cigarette down and stomps it out almost immediately, the both of them jogging quickly toward the open garage where all the trucks were parked.

Cas makes his way to the far wall of the garage with ease, lifting up his tan coat with small neon yellow stripes along it and gliding it on in a swift movement. He kicks off his shoes and tucks them away, grabbing his pants and sliding them on over the pair he’s currently wearing. It feels simple for Cas to get ready, since he’s done it so many times before that now his movements are almost robotical.

Just as Cas tugs on his second boot, the Chief stalks out of the main door and into the garage, one arm in his coat and the other working its way into it. “Alright, you Jakes, we’ve got a 911 call; 21 Burkstone Drive. The neighbors across the street called in and reported that they took a look out the window to see clouds of smoke and large flames escaping the windows - it sounds urgent. Let’s go, let’s go!” The Chief exclaims in a loud voice, so that all the firefighters that were in the garage getting ready could hear him.

Cas swallows dryly, a feeling of discomfort and fear settling in the pit of his churning stomach, the address sounding oddly familiar to him. Instead of worrying over it and pushing himself to overthink about it, Cas takes in a deep breath and follows the rest of the firefighters into one of the trucks. He sits down next to Jeff, and almost immediately after the last firefighter gets in and shuts the door to the truck, it takes off in a single jerking motion, the siren sounding around them. Cas supposes the siren should hurt his ears or at least make him a little on edge, because obviously the siren means nothing good, but after hearing it so many times it was just another small ringing sound in his ears - something he was used to hearing.

Even as the truck moves quickly down the street, all the firefighters silent around him, Cas still can’t get to the bottom of what the address means to him. He knows the address is an important one, as it’s lodged in his brain somewhere, yet he just can’t find it in himself to remember whose house it is.

Cas sits still for the next few moments as they drive and once they arrive at their destination, he grabs his helmet and places it onto his head before following the other firefighters out of the truck. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, Cas knows exactly who lives at 21 Burkstone Drive - Emily’s sister.

“Listen up,” Cas hears from the walkie-talkie at his neck, the Chief’s voice clear through the device. “It’s too dangerous to enter the house at any entrance, so I don’t want to see a single one of you going into it until the fire is completely put out, and I deem it safe.”

Cas feels a depressed feeling settle in his chest, feeling nothing but empathy for his fiancée. He can’t even go into the house to see if her sister has gotten out safely. It makes Cas feel somewhat useless, like he’s unable to save someone just because it’s a little too dangerous. It isn’t the time to be thinking about that right then, however, because Cas has a job to do.

He moves away from the truck door to grab the pipe, starting to unravel it to set out the fire. The faster he helps put the fire out, the quicker he can get in to see if Emily’s sister was either not in the house, or wasn’t harmed by the flames if she was. When Cas begins hauling the pipe toward the house, that’s when he hears it.

Someone crying for help.

“Please - please, someone help me!” Cas hears and he stops breathing completely, utterly choked up. It was Emily. Emily was calling out for help. He was sure of it. “I have a child in here with me, please!”

Cas drops the pipe in front of his feet, and before he can even comprehend what he’s doing, he’s darting for the house.

“Novak! What the hell are you doing?!” Chief yells, but Cas doesn’t even care if he gets fired for doing this. Emily is in her sister’s house, and Claire could be in there with her. There was no way he’d obey the Chief’s wishes if it meant Emily and Claire could get hurt.

When Cas runs near the Chief, he steps out in front of Cas and grabs his biceps painfully, holding him still despite how he’s trying to charge toward the house.

“Let go of me!” Cas snaps, attempting to move his arms out of the Chief’s solid grip as the skin on his bicep burns under the pressure of his hands. “My fiancée and my daughter are in there! You can’t just force me to sit out here with my thumb planted firmly up my ass and do nothing!”

Anger is pouring out of Cas like a tall waterfall, hard and painful once it hits the surface of the water at the bottom. The Chief’s face is twisted up, looking as though he’s torn between letting Cas go and keeping him back. It didn’t really matter what the Chief’s decision was, because Cas was already shoving his hands away and running to the house.

He can hear his name being called out by various different firefighters, though he didn’t listen to a single shout as he ran up to the home of Emily’s sister, submerged in flames. Cas’ chest heaves up and down with both fear and anxiety, scared of where they are because he hasn’t heard Emily shouting anymore.

Cas shoves the door open, the heat radiating off the flames wrapping around his body like a blanket. “Emily!” he calls out, eyes searching around the burning home. Cas begins coughing rapidly, cursing himself for forgetting to put on a gas mask before coming to get them. He wasn’t thinking clearly, however, and still isn’t.

“Cas!” he hears from his left, and Cas’ head snaps in that direction only to see Emily and Claire huddled in a corner. Cas’ heart drops, watching as Claire wails on Emily’s hip, arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck. It’s a relief to see that they’re still alive, but once Cas looks down, he sees that they’re cornered by flames on all sides.

“Emily! Stay right there, okay? I’ll - I’ll figure a way to get to you,” Cas says in a rush, coughing just a bit more with the smoke that he’s inhaling as he looks around for some way to get to them. Cas swore to himself that he’d always keep the two of them safe, and if he didn’t find a way to get them out, he’d never forgive himself.

“No! Cas, please, I want you to take Claire. I can hold her above the flames and over to you, they aren’t tall enough to get to her!” Emily calls back, her voice hoarse from a mixture of screaming, crying, and the smoke. Cas’ eyes grow wide at the suggestion, and he’s quick to decline.

“Emily, don’t! If those flames rise while you’re handing her up and over..” Cas trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. If something went wrong while Cas was taking Claire, he’d never be able to get the image out of his head of his little girl burning. He wouldn’t ever be able to get rid of the image he was seeing now, either.

Emily cries harder, clutching Claire closer to herself as Cas panics. The flames are all around them, and Emily is pushing them farther and farther into the corner to try and stay away from the fire. Tears streak down Cas’ cheeks, and he hears someone else run into the house behind him. He turns quickly, watching as Jeff heaves through his gas mask.

Jeff’s eyes land on Emily and Claire as soon as he’s inside, and Cas realizes then that he’s crying even harder. “Jeff, there’s fire all around them and I can’t get them out!” he shouts, a painful cough rising in his throat as he moves his eyes back to Emily and Claire. He can’t take his eyes off of them, not even for a minute. Cas feared that if he did, the fire would get to them before he could.

“Cas, hey, listen to me,” Jeff says evenly, and Cas wants to punch his lights out because how could he be so goddamn calm in a moment like this? “You have to calm down. You can’t get them out of there like this, you have to think rationally. The flames are too high for them to climb over.”

Cas shakes his head furiously, the tears coming quicker and quicker until he’s completely out of them, only heaving as he stares at his fiancée and daughter with a pained expression. He can’t imagine a life without them, and he never wants to. He wants to be wrapped up in Emily’s warm embrace once again, and even wants to change Claire’s diapers since the young girl is still working on being potty trained, just if it means that he’ll get to hold them both once again. Cas always shrank away in fear when Emily wanted him to change Claire’s diaper, and he’d make a face and walk away so he wouldn’t have to. He wishes he would’ve done it. Oh, God, how he wishes he would’ve. Cas wishes he would’ve held them both just a little bit longer, bathed in the warmth and comfort of his daughter sleeping on his chest and Emily’s head resting on his shoulder as they all cuddled close in bed. He just wishes he would’ve taken every small thing for granted, especially with his two girls.

Everything comes tumbling down in that moment - literally. The second floor collapses above where Emily stands with a sobbing Claire hooked to her neck, and once the fire engulfed floor is on top of them, Claire’s sobbing stops.

Cas’ world stops.

All his fears come true in that moment, sadness beginning to become imprinted into his heart like a tattoo. Cas can’t get rid of the dejection he feels as he watches the floor cave in, all of it happening in slow motion as if just to torture him even more.

“No.. Emily, Claire!”

Cas lurches up from his bed, a scream stuck in his throat with those two names heavy on the tip of his tongue. His eyes burn with fresh tears, forehead littered with sweat as Cas feels his stomach twisting in different directions. His chest constricts with each seething breath he inhales and exhales, and two full minutes elapse as he tries to regain his sanity.

Which would be the understatement of the century.

Ever since the day of the fire, Cas has never truthfully been sane. He’s put on a bright smile from time to time in front of his brother Gabriel or his sister Anna when they came to check on him, attempting to at least act like he was fine. They were the only two people that Cas had after the fire, his other brother, Michael, wanting nothing to do with him. Jeff was there too, Cas supposed, but he shut the man out of his life just like he did to anyone else he had contact with.

Almost immediately following the fire, Cas packed up everything and left the town of Farmington, Missouri. There were too many painful memories there, especially in his own home. Cas couldn’t even look at Emily’s side of the closet without running to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach.

Every time he would enter Claire’s bedroom, the one he spent nearly two days painting pastel blue with Emily, he’d get a sickening feeling in his stomach just like with Emily’s clothes, only he wouldn’t vomit. Cas would sit in the center of his daughter’s bedroom, crossing his legs beneath himself as he rested his elbows on his legs. He’d shove his head down into his hands, tugging and pulling at his hair as he yelled and cursed at anything and everything.

Cas yelled at God more than anything else, because for each time that he had prayed every night to ensure the safety of his fiancée and daughter, his prayers were never answered. His wishes of keeping the two of them around forever were never ensured.

It wasn’t that he stopped believing that there was a God, because for all of his life he’d been a devout Christian. Cas simply believes now that God is still there, he just isn’t the God everyone worshipped and thought of him to be. He believes that this God is a cruel God. He took Cas’ family away from him, the only small source of life he had left. There is no way he could be as high and mighty as everyone makes him out to be if he’d do such a horrid thing.

Cas now lives in Lawrence, Kansas which is only one state over from Missouri. He didn’t want to travel too far, and Kansas didn’t seem like a bad place to settle down in. He found a nice house in Lawrence, one that wasn’t too big or too small.

Cas has to keep reminding himself that he’s now living on his own, which is more painful than he thought it would’ve been.

There’s no toddler scurrying around the house in only her diapers, yelling for Cas to chase her. There’s no warm body to wake up next to in the early morning. There’s nobody for Cas to wrap an arm around and pull to his chest, to whisper soft and sweet nothings into their hair and promise to keep safe.

Cas is alone.

He’s reminded of that as he looks over to the right side of his bed, to be greeted by nothing but cold and crumpled sheets. Cas drags a hand down his tired face, cheeks damp from the tears that had rolled down them while he was having a nightmare. He wipes his wet hand off on the sheets, and then throws them away from his body so he can pull his legs off the bed. Cas swings them off the edge, feet hitting the cold wooden floor as he stands.

He stretches, the long day ahead of him looking gloomier and gloomier as he thinks about it. Cas was transferred to the Lawrence Fire Department when he decided to move to Kansas, and it’s his first day that he’s supposed to work.

It isn’t that Cas dislikes what he does, because being a firefighter is part of his life. He just dislikes the lingering thoughts in the back of his head of the last time he was doing his job, but Cas tries to push them away to focus on the task at hand. He lets out a quiet yawn, scratching his bare chest before beginning to walk to the bathroom. He stumbles over a few things scattered on the floor on the way there, and somehow manages not to fall flat on his face.

It doesn’t take that long for Cas to get ready. He spends an excessive amount of time under the spray of the shower head, letting the warm droplets of liquid cascade down from the back of his neck to his shoulders and disperse either down his back or chest. The warmth of the water helps Cas to remember that he’s still alive, that he can still feel certain things in life.

Cas dries his hair with an old beige towel, stepping into a pair of boxers and his navy blue cargo pants for his uniform at the station. He looks around for a few moments, unsure of what shirt he should wear. Nobody told him any specifics on what he’s supposed to wear, so Cas grabs his black t-shirt with the word _FIRE_ written boldly on the back in white. It was what he wore at the station in Missouri, so it would have to do until he was provided with what to wear.

Cas already has a duffel bag lumped next to the door to his room, which is filled with the things he kept with him at the old station. He grabs his duffel and begins jogging down the stairs, tossing it over his shoulder as he stops in front of the door.

After he slides on his work boots, Cas grabs his lightweight leather jacket to shield himself from the chilly late September air and begins making his way out of the house.

The fall leaves crumble under Cas’ boots as he glides his jacket on, the smell of decomposing trees mixed with a scent of relaxation filling his nose. He pulls the keys to his black GMC Acadia out of his pocket and unlocks it before climbing into the driver’s seat, tossing his duffle into the empty passenger’s side.

Cas starts the car up, and then leans back in his seat to close his eyes for just a few moments. He needs to prepare himself for anything that could possibly happen in the next twenty four hours that he’s supposed to be at the station, because he can’t get choked up if he needs to go inside a burning building or home. If Cas got scared while trying to pull someone out and something happened to them, he’d never be able to get over his mistake.

The car roars to life and he merely shakes himself out of the trance he’s in, wanting to think about other things that didn’t involve flames. Cas pulls back out of his driveway with ease, the street overly quiet near five o’clock in the morning.

Leaves crackle under the four rolling wheels of Cas’ Acadia, the bitter morning air nipping at the end of his nose as he rolls the window down. He can never drive without the window at least cracked, because he always feels too claustrophobic in the moving vehicle without a little bit of air.

Cas drives for a minimum of three minutes, his cheeks rosy and numb from the cold air breezing past the car, before he hears the sound of a bell in front of him. He sees that the railroad crossing gate is going down in front of him, signifying that a train is about to pass.

He sighs a breath of relief, letting his car come to a halt just in front of the train tracks. Most people hate waiting around for a train to go by, wanting nothing more than to just cross and get to their destination. Cas, on the other hand, finds that watching a train pass is comforting to him for one reason or another. He isn’t entirely sure why.

Cas sits there, arm resting on the window of his car with his hand dangling just slightly out of it, the cool breeze blowing lightly in between his fingers. He taps them against the outside of his car where his hand rests, watching as the train begins advancing down the track. The sound of the rail wheels on the bottom of the train gliding swiftly down the track soothes Cas’ ears, allowing a content feeling to settle in the pit of his stomach.

Although, that isn’t the only sound Cas hears.

Blue eyes snap to Cas’ rearview mirror as he hears the sound of shifting gravel under the weight of someone’s shoes. A tall man is walking down the side of the road, eyes down on his phone in front of him with a pair of headphones lodged into both of his ears. Its clear that he has his music on blast, because Cas can hear small bits of the music gradually getting louder, and as it gets lower he can no longer hear it.

The man is wearing a grey shirt underneath a solid blue flannel, faded jeans clinging feverishly to his bow legs while his work boots crunch more of the gravel as he walks. His dark blonde hair is all that Cas can really see, which is sticking up in various different directions.

Cas shouldn’t worry in the way that he is, but he can’t help himself. The man is getting closer and closer to Cas’ car, which is right in front of the train. He most likely can’t hear the train rolling past with his music up so loud, and that makes Cas worry even more.

The man’s steps grow louder, a signal that he’s nearing Cas’ car. When he turns to look again, the man is mere inches from the back of it, still walking with his eyes down on his phone. He has to be the most foolish man that Cas has ever been near by far, and if he doesn’t look up soon, Cas may just do something stupid.

The last thing he wants is to watch someone else die.

Out of a rush of adrenaline, Cas reaches his left hand out the window of his car and grips onto the back of the man’s flannel near his right shoulder, pulling him back from taking even one more step.

“ _Jesus Christ_!” he yelps in surprise, nearly falling back on his ass as Cas refuses to let go of the flannel. The man rips his headphones from his ears, and as soon as he does his eyes become broad. It seems as though he’s just hearing the train for the first time, and the man’s eyes dart over to it for a quick few seconds before turning to look at Cas.

If Cas wasn’t so enraged, maybe he would’ve cooed over the fact that the man’s eyes were a vibrant green, gold speckles dancing around the pupils. He would’ve adored the fact that freckles littered the man’s face, spreading across his nose like a wildfire. That isn’t what Cas does, however.

“What the hell is the matter with you!?” Cas snaps, anger coursing through his veins as he grits his teeth to keep himself from screaming.

The man’s eyes harden and his eyebrows stitch together like he’s contemplating ripping Cas’ throat out. He looks angry, as if Cas has done something wrong. Instead of showing Cas gratitude, the man rips his flannel from Cas’ grip with ease. His fingers feel cold and bare without the warmth of the fabric underneath them, and his hand itches to clutch onto the man’s flannel once again to ensure that he won’t take a simple step further. Cas can’t watch someone else die, especially when he has the opportunity to save them.

“Listen, _superman_ ,” the man spits venomously, almost as though he’s angry at Cas for saving him. “Nothing is wrong with me. I don’t need your grubby fingers pulling me back from the line of fire.”

That confirms it - the man is angry at Cas for saving him.

“You’re protruding the fact that you would’ve enjoyed being flattened by that train?” Cas asks in a harsh tone, matching the man’s poisonous one. “Had I not grabbed you, you would’ve kept walking right into it. You should be _thanking_ me, _not_ acting like a prissy bastard.”

Laughter is what fills Cas’ ears next. The man’s head is thrown back, the sound exiting his throat and out into the atmosphere for Cas to hear. Cas furrows his eyebrows in confusion, unsure of why the man is laughing. There is nothing he can find funny about the situation, and if anything it just makes Cas’ anger grow more prominent.

Not only does the man have little to no room for gratitude, but he’s laughing at the fact that Cas just gifted him more time to live. It infuriates him, makes Cas’ blood boil and if this were a cartoon, smoke would be emerging from his ears.

“Ever stop and think that maybe you’re saving people who don’t want to be saved?”

Cas pauses, his eyes stuck on the man’s green ones. They show a small flicker of sadness that’s hidden far behind a look of amusement, but Cas can see all the emotions hiding behind that question by just glancing at the man.

“Ever stop and think that maybe someone truthfully cares for you and wants you to be saved?” Cas shoots back, mocking the man’s words. He turns his head to look at Cas, fingers playing with his headphones as he stares. The man seems to be contemplating what he said, since Cas notices his lips are pursed in thought, but after a few moments he just grins like nothing was said at all and shakes his head.

“Ain’t that a fantasy to live in,” the man retorts. His grin widens, exposing his remarkably pearl white teeth, as he looks back to the passing train. It’s still moving swiftly down the track, nothing majorly exciting but the man seems to be watching it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“It isn’t a fantasy,” Cas assures him, his voice bordering calmness, but not quite. “Someone cares for you. Even if you enjoy indulging in your self-worth problems and living in a world of denial, someone needs you alive.”

The man’s grin subsides for a few stretching moments, before a fond smile makes itself at home on his lips as though Cas finally said something right. His eyes travel down to the ground and he closes them, head shaking slowly like he’s attempting to get rid of a thought.

“I think they’ll do just fine without me.”

“I highly doubt that.”

The words tumble from Cas’ lips without hesitation. Cas’ eyes are pouring into the side of the man’s face as he gingerly lifts his head, green eyes meeting blue. Cas searches the man’s eyes and features, hopeful that he will notice a spark of emotion. His eyes hold much more in that moment than just the lingering sadness and amusement like Cas noticed earlier. Now, the man’s eyes portray a look of hopefulness, like those four simple words were all he needed to hear Cas say.

Holding another person’s gaze has never been one of Cas’ strong suits, but somehow, his eyes never leave the strange, stubborn man in front of him. Instead of looking off in a different direction like he usually would, Cas soaks up the memory of his green eyes as much as possible, unwilling to forget just how much emotion is trapped in them.

“You were supposed to start driving an entire minute ago,” the man points out, leading Cas into a confused state until the man chuckles and averts his eyes away to look at the train, which is no longer moving down the tracks.

Cas sucks in a sharp breath of air, becoming aware that he’d been staring so intensely at the other man that he hadn’t noticed the train passing completely. The transformation of sounds from the train clicking along the track into settled silence had gone unnoticed. The man begins chuckling at their foolishness, a smooth rumbling sound in his throat.

Cas is embarrassed for being so completely enraptured by the man’s stare, so naturally he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“You were supposed to start walking an entire minute ago.”

“Touché,” the man agrees, Cas’ embarrassing answer thankfully going unnoticed. “You sure you won’t pull me back again?”

That’s what Cas isn’t so sure about. He’s afraid that if he lets the man continue walking, something will come out of the blue and harm him. If not a train, then something else. Cas was never prepared for what happened with Emily and Claire. A person wouldn’t dare plan for something that heartbreaking to happen. That’s why he’s so afraid of letting the man continue on his journey.

“Not unless you give me a reason to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” the man promises with a curt nod, followed by another bright smile before he thrusts his phone into his pocket and begins walking again. He shoves his headphones back into his ears, and a wave of ease settles inside of Cas when he sees the man keeping his eyes up ahead of him this time, instead of down at his phone.

Cas should be absolutely ecstatic, and should be proud of himself for saving someone’s life. Instead, he finds his fingers trembling against the steering wheel, the ease that settled in his stomach wanting to make it’s way out. His breathing is becoming ragged, almost as though he’s nearing a panic attack.

Forcing himself to calm down for as long as he can, Cas takes a deep breath in as he pushes down on the gas pedal, driving over the train tracks so he can start making his way to the station. It’s only around the corner, but Cas needs to get there relatively quick, for he fears he’s about to unload everything in his stomach all over his car.

After what feels like ten dragging minutes, Cas finally pulls into a parking space down at the end of the road next to a parking meter, and rolls up his window. He pulls the key out and shoves it into the pocket of his leather jacket, before folding his arms on the steering wheel in front of him to press his forehead against them in an attempt to calm himself down.

Cas isn’t sure what he’s so worked up about, but just the subtle thought of watching someone else die in front of him makes him want to curl up and forget anything and everything that has ever happened. If the man would’ve kept walking, and if Cas hadn’t reacted in the way that he did, the man could’ve died in front of his eyes.

He was nearly positive he would’ve relapsed, had the man walked any further. Cas would’ve dived deeper into the sea of depression that he’s been trying to swim his way out of, and he may not have came back up. He can’t imagine being in that state again, because Cas was _so_ goddamn miserable then.

It felt like every passing moment, someone was wrapping their fingers around Cas’ neck and squeezing to their heart’s desire. His life after the fire was a never ending loop of despondency, watching the tragedy of Emily and Claire happen over and over again in the back of his unresting, worry clustered mind. He thought he could’ve gotten better, maybe, if he was able to stay clear of death and calamity. That was seemingly impossible, nevertheless, because it’s everywhere.

Cas realizes now more than ever that it’s impractical to stay clear of disasters. He feels as though he has just gotten rid of his melancholy, but just as it’s about to dissipate, it ricochets back to the surface and gets to him when it’s unexpected.

If that man would have died in front of Cas not too long ago, he has no doubt in his mind that he would’ve been buried even deeper into despair.  

Knowing that it’s best not to sink further and further into his thoughts, Cas pulls his head back from his arms and runs the fingers on his right hand through his dishevelled hair, shallow breaths being inhaled and exhaled in the process. Cas makes sure that he’s gathered and won’t fall apart at the seams before leaning over to retrieve his duffel bag from the passengers seat. His tired eyes dart to the rear view mirror briefly, to ensure that he is fully collected and ready.

He gets out of his car and tosses the bag over his shoulder, moving away from the street toward the parking meter to tug his wallet out and gather the money for parking.

Once his parking is paid for, Cas propels his wallet back into the pocket of his leather jacket and locks his car. He buries his left hand in his pocket, allowing it to soak up the warmth that the jacket provides. He keeps his right hand clutching loosely at the strap on his duffle bag, assuring that it won’t slide off his shoulder as he walks.

It isn’t too cold outside, but the breeze is enough to make Cas’ cheeks receive a rosy pink pigment. Downtown Lawrence is quiet around him aside from the occasional sound of shoes pattering against the sidewalk, the fall atmosphere thankfully calming Cas as he makes his way to the station. His eyes wander around the city, taking in the sight of building after building and small shops that litter the town while he walks.

He hasn’t seen Lawrence before now other than when he was driving through to get to his house, but then again, as he was driving he was preoccupied with different thoughts instead of how breathtaking the city is.

Now, for some reason, Cas’ head is as clear as it gets and he has the ability to admire each small feature of the city as he walks. His time is cut short, however, when he finally stops walking in front of the station.

Countless people are spread out around the garage, some rolling up extra pipes to hook onto the trucks, others assuring that all the trucks are in tip-top shape for the next call. Some people are sitting or standing around, sharing mindless conversations and laughing as well, and Cas knows better than to interrupt anyone to ask for directions.

Cas hauls the duffel higher on his shoulder and keeps his hold on it as he begins approaching the station, his eyes trained on a man who’s kneeling down, rolling up an old champagne pink pipe. All that Cas can see is a head of jetblack hair, though when he finally stops in front of the man, russet eyes rise from the pipe to meet his own.

“Do you happen to know where I can find the Chief’s office?” Cas asks, head tilted in question as he awaits an answer.

The man nods his head and points to a door that’s sandwiched between two others. “If you go through that door right there, it leads to most of the offices in here. Go all the way down the hall, take a right, and at the end of the second hall is the Chief’s office.”

“Thank you.” Cas says gratefully, a polite smile seizing his lips as he turns to leave. He doesn’t get too far, though, because the man speaks again.

“Hey, you’re the transfer, right?” he asks, and when Cas turns around his eyebrows are raised in suspicion. Cas is somewhat hoping that nobody else has been told that he’s a transfer, so that he can peacefully settle into the new station to some extent, but he’s almost positive his wishes would soon be proven wrong.

“I am,” Cas confirms, his words laced with a tone of question as he waits expectantly for the man to say something.

“Damien Haralson.” he says with a modest grin as he takes his right hand off of the pipe to hold it out for Cas to shake.

Cas willingly takes Damien’s hand with his left one, giving it two firm shakes before allowing it to drop back to his side. “Castiel Novak.”

“Good luck with the Chief, man. Guys a total hardass.”

Cas wants to groan at the fact that he has not set foot in the station for more that 5 minutes without receiving a negative description of the Chief, but thankfully he manages to keep his mouth shut and he offers the man another smile before turning toward the door he was appointed to.

He pushes the door open and shuts it behind himself, eyes wandering around as he begins walking down the hall. Pictures of several diverse men and women cover the wall to his left, medals and badges placed just underneath to show their ranks and what they’ve been awarded. There’s a whole load of different reasons that Cas can think of for these people being on the walls, death and honor being two of them. It’s nice to see people placed on a high pedestal after they die, Cas thinks, especially if they’ve accomplished something that’s worthy of so many medals and awards.

He turns the corner to his right, seeing that the Chief’s door at the end of the hall is slightly ajar. Cas isn’t sure if he should walk in right away, even though he was supposed to be there around five to ten minutes ago, so he just comes to a halt outside the door.

“Dammit, son, this is the sixth time you’ve came in my office during the time you’re supposed to be eating breakfast. Each time you’ve declined my offer to give you money for the food, but this time, you’re takin’ it.”

Cas’ brows push together in bewilderment, the conversation of which he’s hearing not making a licker of sense to him. He raises a hand to knock on the door, not wanting to eavesdrop, though the next voice he hears makes his hand freeze in place.

“I’m not taking your money, Bobby - I couldn’t pay you back. You know just how fucked I am when it comes to money. The last thing I need is to feel guilty for taking yours without paying you back.”

The man from the train tracks. That’s whose voice travels through Cas’ ears as he listens to the two bicker back and forth. Cas can’t seem to come up with a reason for the man being at the station in the Chief’s office, unless he’s another firefighter. He sincerely hopes, prays, that the man isn’t a firefighter. If he is, then Cas would be keeping an eye on him constantly while out on the job just to ensure that his efforts of saving the man wouldn’t go to waste, and that’s something that Cas couldn’t have.

“Listen, boy. Just because you have to pay for-”

Cas’ knuckles are tapping against the wooden door before he can stop them. He feels like he’s intruding on a conversation that the two men wouldn’t like to be sharing with anyone else, so he decides to cut it off. It’s a rude thing to do, but if Cas didn’t do that, then he’d still be standing there listening.

That didn’t mean his curiosity for the man from the train tracks hadn’t risen while he eavesdropped, however.

There’s a pause of silence before he hears the Chief speak. “Come in.”

Cas pushes the door open and attempts to keep his eyes lined up on the Chief’s as he enters, though before he knows it, he’s looking at the green eyed man that stands in front of the desk. His blue flannel has been discarded, now leaving him in his gray shirt which has the words LAWRENCE FIRE DEPARTMENT outlined on the back in a shade of baby blue.

The man’s eyes are on Cas’, his head the only thing that’s turned around. His body is still facing the Chief’s desk, though he’s side eying Cas with a mischievous grin. Cas wants to tear that grin right off the man’s face, mainly because it’ll be the most distracting part of his job from now on.

“I apologize for interrupting. I’m the transfer from the Farmington Fire Department in Missouri,” Cas greets, not allowing himself to look into the man’s green eyes anymore as he instead fixes his eyes on the Chief. He can still feel the man’s eyes boring into him, but manages to ignore it for the time being.

“Right, I was told that you’d be showing up today. Cast.. Castle Novak, correct? That’s an odd name, son,” the Chief chuckles, and as Cas’ eyes avert down for a moment while he shakes his head, he catches a glimpse of the name plate that rests on the corner of his desk.

“It’s Castiel, sir, but I suppose it’s still somewhat of an odd name.” Cas corrects with a small chuckle, as he takes his eyes off Chief Singer’s desk to meet his gaze once again. Cas hears a soft ‘humph’ sound, and it takes him a moment to realize that it hadn’t been from Chief Singer.

Both Cas and the Chief turn to look at the green eyed man who the noise had come from, a displeased look on his face. Cas isn’t so sure what was so distasteful about the conversation that the man felt the need to make such a noise, but before he can react Chief Singer is already talking.

“Well, Dean. Since you’re here and you can’t seem to stop running your trapthis morning, you can show Novak around.”

Cas’ heart plummets and begins beating heavily against his ribs as his eyes turn cold, wishing they could narrow down into the back of his skull. The last thing he wants is to be around Dean longer than he has to be, because even if he did happen to save his life, Cas still wants nothing to do with the infuriating man. It seems that Dean wants nothing to do with him, either.

“Why do I have to show the guy with the stick up his ass around?” Dean rejoinders, this time turning his head to look at Chief Singer instead of Cas. “Why can’t you find him someone else that has a stick up their ass? They’ll do good by each other.”

“Because you’re the only other person I know who needs to get a stick out of their ass.” Chief Singer all but growls, and Cas can see Dean physically flinch at the response.

Dean lets out a soft huff, a calloused hand dragging down his face as he turns his whole body toward Cas. Now that he’s turned around, Cas can see that Dean’s arms are spotted with freckles, just like his face, spreading from his bicep all the way down to his fingertips.

“Come on, then. Onward.” Dean says with a tone of displeasure as he begins walking in Cas’ direction. Cas feels like backing away or staying clear of the man, though as Dean slaps his chest on his way out the door, Cas can’t help but feel the need to be smothered in that feeling again.

His chest tingles where Dean tapped it with his palm, enough that he can still pinpoint the shape of his fingerprints, and it takes Cas a few long moments to muster up the ability to nod at Chief Singer before turning to walk out the door. Dean touching him shouldn’t have such an effect on Cas, but somehow, it makes his insides twist.

Dean is already walking down the hall when Cas turns out of Chief Singer’s office, and he lets out a heavy sigh as he follows in the man’s wake.

“Having a tough time keeping up, blue eyes?” Dean assumes when Cas finally joins him in venturing down the hall. Cas rolls his eyes at the nickname, clutching the strap on his duffle a tad bit tighter as he decides to take back all his wishes of wanting to feel Dean’s hand again.

Instead of replying, Cas keeps quiet as Dean pushes open a new door, which leads them to a room filled with gray lockers.

“This is where you keep all your stuff. I don’t recommend putting too many personal things in your locker, because the guys have a tendency to steal the keys and pull stuff out of your locker.” Dean warns as he leans down, grabbing a roll of tape from the narrow brown bench between the two rows of lockers.

He pulls a strip from the roll and brings the end up to his mouth, gleaming white teeth tugging at the tape until it rips. Once Dean has the end of the strip sticking to the pad of his finger, he grabs a black sharpie before leading Cas over to an empty locker.

Dean spreads the piece of tape neatly across the top of the locker and tugs the cap off of the marker, sprawling a name down onto the tape. The name Dean writes isn’t what Cas was expecting. Dean wrote ‘ _Blue Eyes_ _’_ in large block letters, and for some reason, it makes Cas’ heart beat erratically.

Unfortunately, Blue Eyes isn’t the name Cas is supposed to have on his locker. All the other pieces of tape have people’s last names on them, and Cas feels as though his piece of tape is a little too prominent.  

As Cas reaches out to tear the piece of tape off of his locker, Dean’s hand shoots out to cover it with his palm. Cas’ fingers are mere centimeters from prodding into the back of Dean’s hand, but he’s quick to pull them away as soon as he notices how close they are.

“No touching. Once you’ve got a name on your locker, there’s no removing it. No swapsies, no nothing.”

Despite just how much Cas likes the nickname when he hears it rolling from Dean’s tongue, Cas glares at the man before pulling his locker open. He tosses his duffel onto the floor of the locker, deciding that he’ll worry about unpacking it later. Cas strips out of his leather jacket, leaving him in only his t-shirt as he hangs it up in the locker.

“If you’d hurry your ass up, I could actually begin my tour so I can get back to doing better things,” Dean says in an annoyed voice, though one corner of his mouth is turned up into a gentle grin as he says it. Cas slams his locker shut, growing easily annoyed with the man’s sudden mood shifts. One minute, he’s more annoying than Cas’ older brother, and the next he’s bratty and moody.

“You’re the one that hasn’t started walking yet. I’m just waiting for you to start.” Cas shoots back, eyebrows raised as though he’s waiting for Dean to challenge him.

Instead of gaining an annoyed sound or look, Dean just chuckles and shakes his head as he walks back to the door. Cas has the sudden urge to beat the man senseless for changing his attitude so much in a matter of five minutes, but he keeps his fists clenched at his side as he follows Dean through the station.

Cas keeps his eyes narrowed on the shift of Dean’s back muscles through his grey shirt, vexed with himself for even bothering to study how they move. When Dean turns his head to the side to look back at Cas as they walk, he’s wearing a shit-eating grin like he _knows_ what he’s doing to Cas.

Once the two get outside, a few of the men sitting in a circle chatting look up toward both Cas and Dean as they walk. One sends a grin in Dean’s direction, to which he returns with a sharp nod before moving to instead walk next to Cas.

“Come on, keep following me. The place is near the side of the building,” Dean assures him, now making his way out of the garage and around the building. Cas glances around for a few moments, unsure if he should follow Dean or not, but he goes with his gut instinct and chooses to follow in the man’s footsteps.

They continue walking until Dean stops near where a part of the building bends outward, creating a small wall between the two of them. Cas tilts his head in question as he rounds the wall, finding Dean’s broad figure leaning against the corner between where the curve of the wall and the flat part of the building meet.

“Welcome to my secret hideout,” Dean says with a boyish grin, almost as though he’s a seven year old showing his new friend his treehouse. “Mi casa, su casa.”

“Your hideout?” Cas asks skeptically, trying to fight the grin that threatens to appear on his lips. The last thing he wants to do is grin and give Dean the satisfaction of thinking he’s funny.

Dean just nods his head as he laughs, his hand digging around in his pocket for a few moments before he pulls out a pack of Winstons, tugging a fresh cigarette out of it before pocketing it again. Cas’ eyes grow wide, nearly popping out of their sockets as he watches Dean.

Of course, it isn’t such a big deal to Cas when someone smokes. Cas isn’t a fan of smoking, but he doesn’t hold it against someone if they do. At least he didn’t, until now.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Dean’s eyes snap up at Cas’ colorful choice of words as he’s cupping his hand around the end of the cigarette while he lights it. He slides down the brick wall, back pressed against it as Dean pulls his knees up toward his chest. He rests one arm against his kneecap after he lights the cigarette, eyes venturing up to meet Cas’.

Normally it wouldn’t matter to him whether someone smoked or not, but he had just saved Dean’s life not even an hour ago. Not even an hour ago, Cas had gifted Dean with the ability to continue living his life like he deserves to. Cas didn’t save him just so he could end his life even faster.

“What?” Dean asks innocently, acting like a lit cigarette isn’t hanging low from his two pouty lips. “You upset that I didn’t offer you one? All you have to do is ask, sweetheart.”

For what feels like the fourth time since Cas has met Dean, anger effervesces in his stomach, making him want to wipe the smug look off of Dean’s face. He makes Cas seem like he has an ill temper, which is much more than true. Dean makes Cas want to scream to his heart's desire, until his lungs are smoldering. He makes him want to yell at any and every living thing on the Earth, even if that object has done nothing to him in return.

To put it quite simply, Dean infuriates Cas more than anyone ever has.

“You have to be the _stupidest_ man I have ever crossed before!” Cas growls as he looks down at Dean, his brows lowering out of anger as his hands ball into rock hard fists at his sides. “First, I save your life and you yell at me for it. You imply that you didn’t want to be saved, that you didn’t deserve to be saved. That everyone else would be better off without you, and to remind you, you never even thanked me!”

Cas is breathing heavily as he pauses, and a look of pure amusement is sketched across Dean’s face. The man looks pleased with himself, his cigarette bobbing just slightly between his lips as he inhales the smoke. Dean captures the butt of the cigarette between his index and middle finger to pull it out from the grip his lips have on it, the smoke blowing out in a smooth line only to dissipate up into the chilly air once he exhales.

“Second?” Dean challenges, small puffs of smoke escaping his captivity as he speaks.

“Second, you just pulled out a damn cigarette in front of me! Even after being saved, you continue to ensure that your life is short lived!”

Dean’s lips wind into a simper, looking as pleased with himself as ever. He places the cigarette back between his lips to take a short inhale, and then pulls it back to exhale once again. Dean’s movements are swift and practiced, as though he’s been smoking ever since he was young.

“You think I smoke just so I have a shorter lifespan?” Dean asks humorously, and Cas takes a few moments to wonder what is so funny to the man all the time. He was either grumpy and snappy, or Dean was witty and highly fond of himself.

“What other reason would you have for smoking?”

Chuckling seems to be the only thing Dean knows how to do, because he’s doing it once again as he stands up from his place against the wall, holding the cigarette out between them.

“I don’t smoke just because I find the taste pleasurable or whatever. My reasons are much different,” Dean admits with a wink, his long eyelashes meeting the top of his right cheek as he does so. He tosses his nearly gone cigarette into the grass and stomps it out with the heel of his boot before reaching into his pocket for another. Dean holds the new cigarette between them, and starts digging for his lighter next. “Hold this for me.”

After a moment of denial, Cas strikes up the nerve to take Dean’s cigarette between his index finger and his thumb to hold out for the man. Dean pulls his lighter from his pocket and lights the cigarette between Cas’ fingers, and once it’s lit he tucks it away.

“When you’re born, you start with this strong and lasting intensity; like fire. See how slowly, and just barely, it starts inching toward the butt of the cigarette?” Dean begins, his voice holding a brand new emotion that Cas hasn’t seen in the man just yet. It’s a blissful sound of happiness, like Dean enjoys explaining such a silly thing to Cas.

“That’s how it feels when you get older and older. Your light starts to burn low, and sliver by sliver, it inches closer to the end. For me, though, my end was at the age of twenty four. I’m twenty six now,” Dean informs him, continuing on with his demonstration. Cas thinks it’s somewhat odd to go from yelling at the man, to standing before him with a lit cigarette between his fingers as Dean explains what it means to him.

“For some people, their light ends when they die of old age, or simply just die. They become nothing but trash on God’s green Earth, and that’s alright. It’s alright, because they’re already dead. They don’t have to feel like a piece of shit in an ashtray, you know?”

Cas raises his eyebrows, waiting for Dean to go on when he pauses. The troubled man simply smiles down at the cigarette, like it hangs the moon and the stars. The cigarette proves to be more than important to Dean from his small speech, yet Cas still can’t find it in himself to forgive Dean for smoking - for selling himself short.

“When your light burns out at twenty four, though, that’s it. You have to feel the pain of being stomped out by a shoe whenever you’re finished. You’re someone's addiction for a certain amount of time, until you have nothing left to offer them and they toss you away. You’re left on the ground as though you never meant a single thing to anyone, you know?”

Cas knows. Oh, how Cas knows. He understands the pain that Dean is suffering, because often times he feels exactly like a used cigarette. He feels unworthy to anyone any longer after he’s used. Cas can’t relate in the same exact way that Dean can, but he can relate in his own way.

Losing Emily and Claire was somewhat like a burning light growing too close to the end.

“With a cigarette, I don’t have to count on having nothing left, Cas. With my life, everyone in it counts on having something left. But I let them down,” Dean admits, his index finger and middle finger moving to settle just on top of Cas’ where they hold the butt of the cigarette. “You can’t relight me once I’ve burned out.”

Cas would be a liar if he said his fingers didn’t inch up toward Dean’s vaguely when they came to rest on top of his own. It was a horrid habit he was coming accustomed to, inching closer to Dean just so he could reminisce in the man’s unmistakable warmth.

Dean pulls the cigarette toward himself, causing Cas’ fingers to hover oddly in the air between them before dropping them back at his side. He places the cigarette back between his lips to inhale the smoke, and it makes Cas’ heart ache painfully in his chest. Now that he knows exactly what Dean smokes for, it upsets him more than he’s willing to admit.

He smokes just so he can see his light go out.

Before fully realizing what he’s doing, Cas reaches up to where Dean is holding the cigarette and grabs hold of the end of it. The tips of his fingers are just barely reaching Dean’s lips, though he can feel the smooth and blissful texture underneath them. It makes him want to run his fingers along Dean’s lips for hours on end, to remember every bump and curve in them.

He pulls the cigarette out from between Dean’s lips and tosses it into the grass below them next to the one Dean had previously lit, stomping the half finished cigarette out next to the one that is burnt all the way to the end.

Cas pushes the tip of his boot into the unfinished cigarette, ceasing it from burning any longer.

“If someone is there to save you before the light runs out, there’s plenty of other chances in your pack. You just have to pull another out, and hope that the same person is there to save you again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long! We're in the process of writing this book, so chapters will be a tad bit slower as we write them. :) Thank you for being patient!

The analog clock hanging adjacent to Cas’ vision read 5:43 in the morning. He ran both hands down his face, as if in an attempt to pull the fatigue off of his body. Yet the fatigue remains, eager to envelope Cas in an unwanted blanket of weight that pleaded for rest. He reclines against the back of the chair he’s slumped in, stretching his muscles that whimper of aches and pains.

Looking around him, he notices no action whatsoever from any of the half dozen other men in the room. Aside from the quick exchanges they would make with each other, whether it be about the game tonight, their home life, or just random questions, everyone was pretty much bored and unoccupied.

Two guys across the room are playing finger football with a crumpled receipt they found in the trash, one of them cursing and yelling when the other scored a point. Cas wasn’t entirely sure how they could possibly hold that much energy at five in the morning, almost six, when Cas could barely keep his eyes ajar. Another is attempting to organize the gear that hung on the wall, but instead was on the phone with possibly a second boss, because of the tone of voice being used.

Cas finally casts his gaze on Dean, who is mindlessly flipping a pen around between his thumb, his index finger, and his pinkie, clicking it every now and then. His other arm is bent and resting on the table, supporting his head, his knuckles pressing into the skin of his left cheek. Cas heard a distant yawn every now and then, which would transform into a chain of yawns as if by the Chief’s command.

Many of them had already introduced themselves already, forcing Cas to go through the whole, “Hi my name’s whatever, welcome to the station,” introduction nearly 18 times.

Unlike what Cas had anticipated, everyone was pretty neutral with the idea of Cas becoming a fighter at their station. He hadn’t met anyone too uncomfortably sour or rude, yet. Being tremendously anxious about first impressions, Cas was surely relieved that the transition was, for the most part, smooth.

Before transferring to this station, this kind of 24-hour shift would have Cas pissed and impatient, along with the rest of the fighters. However, under the newly awoken circumstances, Cas was somewhat content; as long as the clock was ticking, there had been no sign of a call all day. No fires. No screams for help. No smoke engulfed living rooms. No fear.

He had been having second thoughts about getting back on the job ever since the fire. Once he did convince himself that he was ready to resume his career, the numbing flashbacks and emotions rose up almost instantaneously. Having a call-absent shift on his first day meant that he could keep everything inside, even if it meant just until tomorrow.

“Hey, blue eyes.” Dean’s almost unfamiliar voice rings through Cas’ ears, interrupting his train of thought. They hadn’t spoken since he finished showing Cas around the station, so the sound was almost refreshing.

“Hmm?” Cas murmurs, nearly a deep rumble in his throat as he raises his eyebrows.

“Ain’t it such a coincidence that the day you get here and you’re all prepared with your little duffel bag and everything, we don’t even get a single call? Not even a prank dial?” He scoffs, leaning back in his chair. Dean is sitting opposite to Cas at the small wooden table, so as he shifted his body weight backwards, one of his boots just slightly brushed against Cas’. Only Cas notices of course, since Dean’s physique remains unchanged, yet Cas feels a jolt of energy shoot up his leg. Or maybe Dean just wasn’t phased by the accidental body contact, Cas mentally slaps himself.

Cas clears his throat before answering. “I’m kinda glad. Didn’t get a single bit of shut eye last night.” He half-lies. The answer in itself is true, because he didn’t get any valuable rest, but Cas was nowhere near ready to share the deeply laced emotions inside of him that made him feel like he was being dragged across the ground as he walked.

“I’ll say.” Dean chuckles, shifting in his seat once again, making his impatience nothing but obvious.

He chuckles back, and soon finds himself tracing the shape of Dean’s shoulders with his eyes, since eye contact wasn’t working out at that moment. His eyes journey down until they meet the splotches of freckles along Dean’s arms. They have no specific pattern, and they’re present on many other parts of Dean’s body. They soak themselves into his vision like a sponge, Cas deciding that he liked that about Dean.

Dean’s freckles.

“What’re you looking at?” Dean’s head sinks to Cas’ line of sight. Dean removes his hand from his face, revealing a faint red mark on his cheek where his knuckles had previously sat.

Cas absentmindedly shakes his head, his eyes meeting Dean’s green pools of confusion.

“Nothing.”

Their shift is coming near its end, Cas guesses, since more fighters are making their way into the station, replacing those who had gotten up to get their things together.

Cas stands up after a few moments of relishing in the odd comfort of the plastic chair, stretching his aching limbs out just a little more than he could manage earlier. He catches Dean’s piercing stare out of the corner of his eye, though they don’t share the look for too long, because the next thing Cas knows, Dean’s name is being called out.

“Dean!” A feminine voice exclaims, and when Cas turns, a short redhead is jogging toward the two of them. She stops just at the end of the table, taking a short glance at Cas to offer a smile before looking down at Dean. “Some of us were going to take a truck out and get some breakfast. Benny wants to know if you’ll come before we head off.”

When Cas turns his head to look at Dean, for reasons unknown, the man has his hands folded neatly behind his head and he’s staring at Cas with a boyish grin. Cas is ready to ask why Dean’s looking at him instead of answering the redhead, but he beats him to it.

“You gonna come, Cas?”

Cas’ mouth opens and closes for a few moments like a fish out of water, before he chuckles and shakes his head. “I wasn’t invited, Dean. You were.”

“Where in the world were you able to find someone so modest? Knowing you, you’re friends with guys that’ll pick up any wandering girl on the street and will rob the gas station of beers and lighters with you,” the redhead snorts, before turning to Cas and holding out a hand. “I’m Charlie, and of course you’re invited.”

Cas takes Charlie’s small, fragile hand with a polite smile, thankful that she didn’t go through the whole “welcome to the station,” process like everyone else did.

“Nice to meet you.” Cas says, because Dean already said his name so he presumed he didn’t need to say it again for the fear of sounding foolish.

“Listen, bud, I’m not getting my ass out of this chair to go with them unless you’re coming,” Dean states stubbornly, the grin never dissipating from his lips while his head is still leaned back against his hands. Cas isn’t so sure why Dean’s so intent on making him go, but then again, if Cas went home now he wasn’t so sure he’d be able to go back to sleep anyhow after the nap he took.

Instead, Cas simply shrugs with a small nod. “I don’t see why not.”

“Good, I knew we were keepin’ you around for something.” Dean jokes with a laugh, before taking his hands down from behind his head and placing them on the edge of the table so he can help himself stand up. He stretches just a bit, twisting his waist and stretching his arms around him with the sounds of the small pops from his muscles.

Charlie gives an excited smile, and the three of them begin making their way out of the rec room and toward the garage, Cas sandwiched between them both. He hadn’t talked to a majority of the firefighters yet, other than listening to them introduce themselves. Cas wasn’t entirely sure just how comfortable he was with doing this, but he supposed that it was a good way to start getting more adjusted.

After a few moments of walking, Dean jogs up ahead of both Cas and Charlie, toward another group of firefighters who were standing around the truck most likely waiting for them. Charlie only laughs and shakes her head at Dean’s energy, before taking a look up at Cas.

“Do you have any idea why Dean would refuse coming unless you came? I know you two are friends, but Christ.. You just got here, and he’s already attached himself to you like a leech.” Charlie muses, arms crossed over her chest as she turns away to look at where Dean was standing.

Cas merely shrugs his shoulders and looks with her, coming up short as he searches for a single reason as to why Dean was acting this way. “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t necessarily call us friends, but.. Dean is just..”

Charlie seems to notice how Cas gets lost in thought, because she shakes her head as her shoulders shake with a silent laugh. The firefighters start climbing aboard the truck, and Cas supposes that there’s maybe about ten to fifteen of them, which isn’t too many. He could do fifteen.

He follows Charlie onto the truck, taking a seat next to her which coincidentally happens to be across from Dean. When Cas sneaks a glance up at him, Dean’s already watching him with another one of his signature grins. If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say that Dean didn’t frown or smile, instead he had that grin plastered on his face twenty four seven. That’s all he ever seemed to do - yet, Cas wasn’t complaining.

The door to the truck closes and they take off out of the garage, conversations already being exchanged between the various firefighters. Charlie sits silently at his side, trading glances with Dean. The glances aren’t just the normal ones where you’d catch someone’s eyes on accident and quickly look away, but glances as though Charlie knew something Cas didn’t. She looked worried, if anything.

A few times during the ride, Cas catches Charlie looking at Dean with a raised brow, and when Cas finally looks to see why she has such an expression on her face, Dean is looking at him instead.

Green eyes are pouring into him, forcing him to absorb just how much warmth and comfort they provide, though they looked almost as though they were lost in thought. For that moment, Cas catches Dean’s eyes completely drained from their color, nearly a dark green as he stares.

Dean isn’t even staring at Cas’ eyes directly, but they’re cast downward just slightly while the man ponders. It makes Cas’ heart twist painfully in his chest, feeling it thump harder and harder as he watches the man stare. Dean isn’t even engaged in a single conversation, which is odd to Cas because he’s overly talkative with him. He could never get Dean to shut up.

Thankfully, Cas is sitting across from Dean in the truck, which gives him the opportunity to scooch his leg forward just slightly to give Dean’s a gentle nudge with the toe of his boot. Dean’s eyes snap up to meet Cas’ almost immediately following the nudge, and somehow it looks as though the stormy clouds in his eyes parted so the sun could shine once again. Cas isn’t sure how to feel about that at all, because it’s odd that Dean can teeter his emotions so effortlessly.

Dean’s eyes brighten, and he offers Cas a soft smile before ripping his eyes away to engage in the conversation the other firefighters are having. Cas looks down at Charlie with a questioning look, but she just rolls her shoulders as she shrugs.

The rest of the ride isn’t too horrible. Everyone talks for the most part, and Cas engages in the conversation here and there when he’s spoken to. Dean didn’t meet his eyes at all, however, which also threw Cas off just a little more. Sure, they have only known eachother for a little over twenty four hours, but either way, Dean didn’t avoid Cas’ eyes like he is now.

When they arrive at the restaurant, everyone pours out of the truck with large grins and groans of hunger complaints. Cas shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, following behind everyone with Charlie at his side. They hadn’t spoken since the two got onto the truck, but then again, it was six in the morning and she was most likely tired.

The restaurant is called Perkins, and when they enter Cas sees that it’s a decently large place, not too big and not too small. The firefighters begin piling into the line for the buffet, and Cas follows behind them with Charlie at his side.

As he’s getting ready to grab himself a plate, Cas catches Dean walking past the line and instead heading to a table. In a heat of the moment decision, Cas grabs the back of Dean’s grey shirt, making the words on the back stretch out as it’s pulled back against Dean’s strong chest. Dean turns almost instantly, looking at Cas with a questionable expression.

Cas only realizes then that he’s still holding onto the back of Dean’s shirt, and he hasn’t spoken yet either.

“Sorry, I..” Cas begins, trailing off as he lets his hand drop from Dean’s shirt. “I was just wondering if you were getting anything to eat?”

Dean’s lips quirk into a hint of a smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides just a bit as he shakes his head. “Nah, forgot to bring money. I’m gonna go grab a table for us all, though.” Dean promises, saying the last part a little louder so that everyone else knows that Dean is grabbing the table.

Cas’ brows pinch together as he frowns, and before he can say anything else Dean is already walking away toward a long table.

He knew for a fact that Dean hadn’t eaten in the whole twenty four hours at the station, because when Cas went in to get lunch and dinner, Dean was never there. The man was buff, surely there was no way to mistake that, but Cas could also tell there was a little more muscle than meat on his bones. Plus, with the conversation he heard between Dean and Chief Singer, it made Cas all the more suspicious.

That was fine, Cas could solve it himself.

Cas grabs two plates and begins wandering down the line, getting himself a handful or two of the scrambled eggs and a few pieces of bacon. On the other plate, Cas made sure to get a lot more than on his, and he added french toast as well just so he knew that Dean had enough. He wouldn’t let the man starve, because obviously Dean had to be hungry.

“Christ, what’s with the food overload, man?” Cas hears, and when he turns his head to look up, Damien is eyeing his plates as he chuckles. Cas shakes his head, quick to decline the statement.

“No, no. Just the one is for me, the other plate is for Dean.”

Damien’s lips twist around just a bit, as though he’s contemplating whether he should smile or not. He simply scoffs and keeps walking down the line. “Winchester is going to tear you apart if you set that plate down in front of him. I wouldn’t try it.”

“I highly doubt that he’ll tear me apart,” Cas says assuringly, though he’s still wildly confused as to why Dean would do such a thing. If someone had gotten Cas breakfast, of course he’d be happy and he’d make sure to pay them back - not that he was going to make Dean pay him. “Why would you assume that?”

Damien snorts, his dark eyebrows pushing together as he laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Benny tried buying him food last time we went out, and Dean nearly threw a fit. He was more than pissed off - even said that he didn’t want Benny’s charity.”

That didn’t sound like Dean. It didn’t sound like him at all. Cas has to keep reminding himself that he just met Dean, but in the whole time that he’d known him, Dean never got angry like that. When Cas took his cigarette out of his mouth, that’s when Dean should’ve been angry. Yet, he wasn’t.

He couldn’t imagine Dean doing such a thing, and Cas isn’t even sure if Dean would.

“Well, even if that happens, I’m not going to just let him starve.” Cas promises, holding his chin high as he watches Damien pull out his money and slide it over the counter to the cashier.

“Right. Good luck with that then, Cas. I’ll keep an eye out to see what happens.”

With that, Damien walks away toward the table Dean got for them, leaving Cas to pay for the two plates. Once he had paid for them both and grabbed forks for the two of them, he began walking toward the table. Only three of the other firefighters had gotten their breakfast, and they were sitting a little farther down from Dean at the large table talking.

Charlie is walking up behind Cas when he finally sets the plates down, and she eyes him warily before taking her seat diagonal from Dean.

When Dean sees the two of them, he meets Cas’ gaze with a smile, not even minding that he put down two plates. Cas pulls the chair out from the table on Charlie’s left and sits down, letting out the breath he took in before sliding Dean’s plate over in front of him. Dean’s head tips downward as he sees the plate being pushed toward himself, an unreadable expression on his freckled face.

“Cas? What’s this?” Dean asks warily, eyeing the plate like he’s a thirsty man in the desert who had just reached an oasis. If Cas didn’t know any better, he probably would’ve thought Dean hadn’t eaten in years, judging by the expression on his face.

“Breakfast. I haven’t seen you eating anything all day, so.. eat.”

For a lack of better words, Dean looks like someone just shut the garage door on his cat. His eyes are down on the plate, wide and bewildered as he tries fighting for words. Finally, Dean just pushes the plate back toward Cas in the middle of the table and crosses his arms, leaning them against the edge of the table.

“Not takin’ your pity food, Novak.” Dean says simply, and Cas isn’t entirely sure why but his mouth clamps shut tightly at the use of his last name. He’s never called Cas that in the entire twenty four hours that they’d known each other . As pathetic as it is for Cas to feel like this, he can’t help himself, primarily because Dean hasn’t called anyone by their last name since Cas has been at the station. He’s always called people by their first names, or a nickname.

Only one of Dean’s arms remain on the edge of the table now, his elbow pressed onto the top while he rests his chin in his palm. He’s staring off into the distance, not even bothering to acknowledge Benny as he sits down beside him.

Cas doesn’t know why Dean is acting distant all of a sudden. He seems upset, as though anything that he’s told could set him off into a fit of anger.

“If you don’t eat this, I’m shoving it down your throat myself in front of all your friends like a pissed off, aggressive soccer mom.” Cas threatens with raised brows, begging Dean to challenge him. Dean makes an angry noise in the back of his throat, looking away from Cas.

“Might as well seeing as though you have a fucking car built for a whole goddamn family.”

That one hits a little too close to home.

The last thing Cas wants to be reminded of is Emily and Claire, which is the whole reason Cas bought the car anyway. He wanted a larger car so that whatever sport Claire wanted to do, she’d have enough room to put everything. He wanted a larger car so that he could drive her and her friends around when she got older, because surely, that’s what Cas thought he’d be doing right now.

He didn’t think he’d ever lose them, and Cas supposed that was his problem. He wasn’t ready, and life handed him a shitty card when he least expected it.

“Don’t take it seriously,” Cas hears in his ear, dragging him back to the table so he’s unable to continue to drown in his thoughts. “It’s probably just his time of the month. Dean gets a little rowdy around then.”

“Dammit, Charlie!” Dean fumes almost as soon as she finishes speaking, his voice only a low hiss as he leans across the table toward the two of them. His eyes resembled a pair of green marbles with flickering flames blazing in the center, and as Cas absorbed Dean's stare, he couldn't help but flinch at how cold his expression was. Charlie begins snorting at Dean’s outburst, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Cas can’t help the way his lips twitch, and he also has to follow in Charlie’s footsteps to cover his mouth so that he didn’t make Dean angrier by smiling. The other firefighters around them hadn’t noticed Dean’s anger, however, so that was a plus.

Dean merely rolls his eyes, and once everyone else gets to the table and sits down, they settle into meaningless conversations. Charlie is babbling on and on about a television show she saw the other night with the girl sitting next to her, presumably a firefighter that Cas hadn’t met yet.

Others are all but shoveling food down their throats like garbage disposals, some laughing and talking to others with their mouths open. Cas visibly cringes at that as he scoops up a spoonful of scrambled eggs, nearly moaning around them because of just how good they taste.

What drags Cas’ attention away from his eggs is the sound of someone across from himself shifting around, utensils being picked up in the process. When his eyes flash up and across the table, he sees Dean with his eyes down on his food, stabbing into the eggs with his fork.

“I’ll be damned.” Cas hears from his left, and when he turns his head Damien is sitting next to him with a baffled expression.  
Cas wants to smile proudly and tell Damien that he got Dean to eat, that he proved the man wrong. He wanted him to know that he guessed wrong about about Dean.

Then again, Cas feels more than special because Dean is eating the food Cas bought for him, when he wouldn’t even eat what Benny got him like Damien said. It was still odd to Cas, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it right now.

Right now, Cas felt a warm smile spreading across his lips as he watched Dean fork more of the food into his desperate mouth. Dean’s eyes flash up as well, and even though he shows no sign of emotion, Cas can tell just by the look in his eye that he’s thankful.

Cas looks back down at his plate and continues eating, finally content with the fact that Dean isn’t in such a bad mood anymore. If he was in a bad mood like before, then he wouldn’t be eating the food Cas got him.

Before he knows it, everyone at the table is engaged in one single conversation, everyone else quiet as one person tells a story. They’re talking about brothers, how a few of the firefighters have crazed brothers or annoying ones, whether it be older or younger.

Cas opted out of sticking in the conversation, because the last thing he wanted to do was talk about Gabriel or Michael. Gabriel was a shit, Cas knew that for sure, but Michael surely was not a good breakfast conversation. So, Cas kept quiet, listening to the multiple stories everyone threw out about their brothers.

As he’s listening, in the middle of someone’s story about their little brothers trip to the emergency room for plowing into a wall at the age of six, he feels something hook around his leg. When Cas looks down under the table, a foot is laced around his calf. Dean’s foot.

Cas somewhat wishes he had never looked up. When he does, Dean’s face is split entirely between pain and sadness. It isn’t like the distant looks he was giving before, but this look was a definite cry for help.

Dean’s eyebrows are stitched together, a lost puppy look striking his face as he looks at Cas. Cas isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, or why Dean’s foot is even hooked around his calf. So, he sits, waiting to see what Dean does. He watches his expressions carefully, even if the look on his face is much more than pain. Pain would be an understatement.

“Winchester, what about your brother?” a man from down the table asks, and Cas remembers him as Jackson from when he was walking around being introduced to everyone. “You haven’t talked about him in a while.”

Four metal chair legs scrape across the wooden floor of the restaurant, the sound filling each crevice of the place as Cas’ calf becomes cold at the loss of warmth. Dean has pushed away from the table, now storming off toward the men’s bathroom on the other side of the restaurant.

The table is quiet now, an odd silence settling over them all as they watch Dean’s tight back retreat to the bathroom. Not a single person speaks at the table, and Cas is left utterly clueless in his seat, spoon frozen, hovering just above his plate.

Cas turns to Charlie with a dazed expression, but she isn’t looking at him or at the bathroom door like everyone else. She has her eyes down on her plate, pushing around the remainder of her food as she keeps quiet.

Every single person in this town has to know information that Cas doesn’t, because everytime something happens he’s left clueless.

Instead of sitting around on his ass like everyone else, Cas pushes away from the table as well and sets down his spoon. He doesn’t bother glancing back at the table, not wanting to see the looks of confusion or other hidden emotions as he walks.

Cas pushes into the bathroom without a moment of hesitation, and when he turns his head to the right, Dean has his palms pressed to the edge of the sink. He’s leaning forward just a bit, muscles tense underneath his shirt as he hangs his head.

Unsure of what to do, Cas glances around to make sure that nobody else is in the bathroom, before reaching a careful hand out toward Dean. He places it just between the curve of Dean’s shoulders on his upper back, the warmth radiating off of Dean too much to take in.

Cas’ thumb moves in slow and unsure circles along the man’s back, his fingers hesitant as he watches Dean’s closed eyes squeeze as though he’s in pain. He’s never been too good at comforting anyone, and he’s still vastly surprised that Dean hasn’t pushed Cas away yet.

Strained moments pass between the two of them, Cas’ thumb still brushing gently between the curve of Dean’s shoulders in an attempt to calm the other man down. It isn’t until Cas pulls his hand away, does Dean turn his body away from the sink. Now, he leans back against it, palms still clutching tightly to the edge as he lets out a shaky sigh.

Dean’s eyes are opened now, and he’s looking at Cas with the same expression as earlier. It pains him to see that expression, and if anyone were to ever ask Cas why, he wouldn’t be able to explain.

“You know I’m not some shaky ten year old who just watched porn for the first time and is scared of getting caught, right?” Dean breathes, and if this were any other situation maybe Cas would’ve laughed at Dean’s raw humor. It’s clear that he’s attempting to brighten up the mood, but for some reason it just makes him feel slightly more upset for Dean. Cas doesn’t even know what’s wrong with the man.

“I know, Dean. I never implied that you were,” Cas promises with a curt nod, his hands now staying in front of himself instead of near Dean as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth before speaking again. “What happened out there? You were.. I don’t know. You looked so far away ever since we left the station.”

Dean’s head cocks to the side like Cas is speaking another language, the pools of green in his eyes sparkling under the glare of the lights hanging above the sinks. “Far away as in distant, or far away as in that one pasty white blonde dude from Twilight kind of far away?”

This time, Cas can’t hold back a small chuckle of laughter at Dean’s question. He would’ve never thought Dean knew that movie existed, but he’s learning a new thing about this man every minute.

“I’m serious,” Cas says in a small voice once he’s able to calm himself down from the Twilight comment, his throat clearing as he shakes his head. “You looked like you were in some sort of pain on the way here, and then you shoved away from the table when Jackson asked about your brother.”  
“Can’t you just leave it alone, Cas?” Dean spits, and it’s clear that the man is just about to tip into a fit of anger. “If I tell you, all you’d do is run along and preach to the choir about how fucked up Dean Winchester is.”

“Do I really peg you as the type of person to scream your troubles out to the world?” Cas asks.

“You seem like the type of person who can’t even scream his own troubles out to the world.” Dean comments with a short laugh as he looks away.

Before Cas has the chance to inaccurately deny Dean’s accusation, the bathroom door is opening and someone else is walking inside - but that isn’t the only thing that’s happening. Next thing he knows, Cas is being tugged into a stall with Dean, and the sound of the door locking next to the two of them rings throughout the small room.

His forearms are pressing into Dean’s chest, the cold bathroom stall pushing painfully into his back as he looks at the man. Dean’s hand hasn’t left its spot on Cas’ side from when he pulled him into the stall, his other hand plastered on the stall next to Cas’ head. Dean’s air becomes his own, and Cas is close to speaking until something warm settles quickly on his lips.

Dean’s hand has moved from Cas’ hip to his face, his index finger lying just above Cas’ two lips in a way to silence him. Cas isn’t sure what’s happening, why they’re pushed into a tight stall chest to chest, or why they’re supposedly hiding from the man who just walked in.

Being this close to someone makes Cas overly squeamish. He hasn’t been this close to anyone since Emily, not even Gabriel when he had to pick Cas up and carry him to his bedroom after getting overly wasted. He wouldn’t let his own brother get this close, and that says something. It makes him want to scream, to curse and attempt to wiggle himself out of the situation.

Although, with Dean’s body heat wrapping around Cas, it isn’t that bad. Screw him for thinking that, damn him to hell - but he can’t get over the fact that this may be one of the most comforting things he’s ever experienced since the aftermath of the fire.

Cas manages to keep quiet, but with Dean’s green eyes pouring into his own with such intensity, it makes Cas want to say something. It makes him want to ask why they’re pushed in a stall together, why they’re hiding from the guy who just walked in. It makes Cas want to know why Dean is so secretive, why he can’t just tell him about his sudden outburst and longing looks of pain.

Instead, Cas opts to keep his mouth shut. Dean’s featherlight touch on his lips is a somewhat comforting weight, allowing him to know that the man is still there and Cas isn’t just being suffocated between the stalls alone. Dean’s thumb is pressed carefully into the curve of Cas’ jaw, his other three fingers resting just below his chin.

As much as he enjoys it, he has to do something about it. Cas shoves Dean’s arm to the side, causing his fingers to drop from his lips. Unfortunately, however, the slap of skin against skin when Cas pushed him away was utterly audible in the small bathroom.

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut for a long amount of time, and he’s mouthing cuss words over and over as if he’s thinking his life is about to end. That, or they’re in deep shit now.

There’s a pause, the room enveloping in silence as the three of them all stop moving. Cas thinks that the man may just barge out of his stall and break down the door to their own, because hell, he doesn’t know what to expect. But that doesn’t happen.

The man outside the stall steps out of his own, the sound of water splashing around in a sink allowing Cas to know that he’s washing his hands now. Dean’s eyes are closed, his face twisted up into a look of pain as he listens as well. Cas wants to reach a hand out and smooth Dean’s face out into a happier look, telling him over and over that it’s alright - that he just needs to tell Cas what is going on so he can help fix it. It’s a crazy thing to want; a nearly impossible wish.

Fixing things isn’t something Cas knows how to do, but he can surely try.

Paper towels being torn from the dispenser is what Cas hears next, the water no longer running. Dean’s eyes have opened now, and when the door to the bathroom opens, it doesn’t shut behind the man when he leaves. Or, at least Cas thought he was leaving.

“If you’re going to hide from me, Dean-o, be smarter about it. I can clearly see your freakishly large feet from under the stall, along with someone else's. I hope you can run fast with those feet when I see you again. I hope he can, too.” the man sing-songs in a low, yet cheerful sounding voice as the door closes.

Cas’ eyes are wide now, staring at Dean’s which are resting down on the lock as he opens the stall, the ripple of his jaw clenching and unclenching quite noticeable as he does so. Dean pushes himself out of the stall, just barely scraping against Cas as he does so. He goes for the door, but fuck no, Cas isn’t letting him get away like that.

“Dean,” Cas warns, and grabs ahold of the man’s shoulder to spin him around. “You’re not leaving. Who the hell was that?”

Dean doesn’t reply right away, and he doesn’t even seem like he’s listening. Cas’ hand tightens on his shoulder and he repeats himself. “Who the hell was that, Dean?”

“Why do you need to know every little goddamn thing about me?” Dean snaps.

“I don’t, but when I’m threatened by someone else I sure as hell would like to know who it is!” Cas growls out, his hand dropping back down to his side as Dean pushes it off his shoulder. He has every right to raise his voice and demand answers. Someone just threatened to come after them both, not just Dean.

“You don’t need to know, alright?!” Dean begins, his voice raising with each passing moment. “I’ll take care of it, you don’t have to worry about jack squat.”

“I don’t have to worry about it? Whoever that was threatened the both of us, not just you! Get your empty head out of your ass and realize that you aren’t the only person in the world!” Cas shouts, and maybe he shouldn’t have done that. There were plenty of reasons he shouldn’t have. For one, pissing Dean off even further isn’t a good idea. The other firefighters are also just outside in the restaurant, which is the second reason of many, and one of them could walk in at any second.

“You seriously think I’d let that son of a bitch do something to you?!” Dean yells back, matching Cas’ tone of voice. There’s something hidden behind that simple question, however, something that Cas can’t exactly pinpoint. He knows that it’s a hidden emotion, because there’s one hidden behind every single action Dean makes. This emotion just happens to be a bit more hidden than most. “The last thing I want is for you to get dragged into my shit, so leave it alone and walk away!”

“It’s not about that!” Cas argues. “It’s the fact that he threatened us in the first place! You can’t just leave me guessing, Dean, I need to know who that was!”

Dean takes a step closer to Cas, closing the small gap of distance between them. They aren’t as close as they were in the stall, but Dean is still close enough that Cas can smell the lingering scent of leather, tobacco, and old spices radiating off of Dean.

It’s a soothing scent, there isn’t a doubt about that, but Cas can’t focus on that right now. He has to focus on the fact that he was just threatened by someone who he’s never seen in his life, and Dean doesn’t even have the decency to tell him who it is.

“You don’t need to know who that was,” Dean assures him in a quiet voice, which is odd because nearly thirty seconds ago he was yelling in Cas’ face. “If there’s anything that you do need to know, it’s that I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“The last thing I need is to be protected by you,” Cas jeers. “I could damn well protect myself if you’d just tell me who that was, and why he threatened both of us!”

Just as Cas is finishing his sentence, the door squeaks open and Damien pops his head in. Quick enough to give him whiplash, Cas takes a step back away from Dean as he looks at Damien’s questioning expression.

“We’re about to head off, if you two wanted to know.” Damien provides in a slow voice, as though he’d just walked in on two of his friends doing the do. Cas watches as Dean gives him a small nod and begins walking toward the open door. Dean grabs the handle once Damien lets go to start walking out to the truck, and surprisingly, Dean’s eyes catch his own for once.

“After you, Cas.” Dean says in a low tone, a sly grin twisting at his lips as he holds the door open. Unbelievable.

It’s as if Dean is doing everything in his power just to be a royal pain in Cas’ ass. If anything, he’d swear on everything he owned that Dean is a bipolar, secretive, colossal dick.

“Funny how you can go from a ‘shaky ten year old who just watched porn for the first time’ to a twenty six year old cocky douchebag who has more skeletons in his closet than anyone I’ve ever come to know.” Cas snaps in a rush, before crossing his arms along his chest and storming out of the bathroom.

He can hear Dean’s heavy boots walking behind him, a sigh leaving Dean’s lips. “Cas, man, hang on. Talk to me.”  
“Talk to you?” Cas hisses in a quiet voice, not wanting anyone else to hear them as he spins around on his heel. “Are you experiencing memory loss? You told me that you don’t wish to talk about it, and that’s fine. I don’t care. If some crazed bastard from a bathroom kills me in my sleep, you’ll know who's at fault.”

With that, Cas turns back around and continues walking out to the parking lot with the others. It wasn’t good for him to tell Dean that if that guy wasn’t bluffing that it would be Dean’s fault for his death, but he wasn’t wrong. Cas knew that it would be Dean’s fault for not telling him, and Dean knew it too.

Cas follows the other firefighters up and into the truck, not bothering to look behind him for the fear of catching Dean’s eye, which has been happening all too frequently for his liking. He chooses to sit down next to Charlie and the girl from earlier who she was talking to at the table, away from the majority of the firefighters. Away from Dean, would really be the correct term.

Cas tries to keep his eyes on Charlie and Gilda, but a quarter of the way through the ride, his eyes begin to wander. He eyes a few of the people sitting across from him, talking and laughing before gliding his eyes down to Dean at the end of the seats.

He’s hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his hands folded together in front of them.

He doesn’t look as unhappy as he did before, but now he just looks emotionless. If Cas had to pick one emotion for Dean right now, he wouldn’t even be able to choose. There was nothing, not even the downward curve of his eyebrows to hint that he’s deep in thought. Cas thinks the man has no right to be upset, however.

Threats are nothing to be subtle about, and Cas sure as hell knows that. He’s known that since highschool when threats were all he’d receive. Some were empty threats, and others were followed through with, resulting in some sort of injury. He knows not to mess with a threat.

Time after time, Cas would endure threats from his classmates for being too skinny, which he thankfully wasn’t any longer, or for being bisexual. It’s an absurd thing to threaten someone over, but most of the threats were unfortunately not empty.

Cas would come home constantly with different bruises of different sizes on various parts of his body, to which his brothers would get extremely angry about. Gabriel would rough them up, but Michael would threaten them until they were running and screaming with their underwear in a twist.

Cas knew threats were dangerous, and therefore Dean was putting him in danger for not telling him who it was, or how careful he’d have to be. He didn’t know if this guy kept to his threats or not, and most importantly, he didn’t know why they were threatened in the first place. What would Dean have possibly done to get himself into shit like that?

He didn’t know, and really, he didn’t plan on finding out. Dean is keen on keeping his problems to himself, so Cas knows not to bother with it anymore. If he does happen to get murdered, who would really miss him?

The truck comes to an abrupt stop, jostling Cas forward just a bit with each bump and groove in the pavement as they pull into the garage of the station. Once they’ve stopped completely, Cas gets up along with all the other firefighters, following them off the truck in a single file line. As soon as Cas takes a step out of the truck, he’s already brushing past everyone to get to his locker.

“Cas,” he hears from in front of him, though he doesn’t bother to look up from the ground. Cas already knows that it’s Dean’s smooth voice saying his name. “Can you at least look at me, dammit?”

Without so much as looking up, Cas feels the sudden intentional contact as he shoulder checks Dean and continues on his way. It’s a rude thing to do, and normally he would’ve never done it to anyone before. Dean, however, has managed to piss Cas off beyond belief - he’s the exception.

Cas tugs his locker open in one jerking movement, startling a few firefighters around him with how much noise it made. He grabs his leather jacket and glides it on, making sure everything is inside his pockets before slamming the door shut.

He shoves both hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, saying goodbye to a few of the people he’d talked to during the shift. A few of his goodbyes came out snipped, like he was angry at absolutely anything that moved and could talk. Which, really, he was, but that didn’t mean he wanted them all to know.

Eyes centered on a meaningless space ahead of him, Cas doesn’t look back as he stalks out of the station and down the driveway. He has the unshakable feeling that Dean could be following him at any given second, so he quickens his pace out of restlessness and frustration.

A plethora of thoughts swim through his mind, vivid and menacing as if they were slicing through the water with their claws, causing Cas to let out a hollow sigh under his breath. What was Dean thinking? Clearly he wasn’t thinking straight since he had the audacity to tell Cas he would handle it. What really urked Cas was the fact that Dean promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Cas didn’t need someone to act like the macho, tough big brother type - he could fend for himself. He just needed to know what was going on, and soon at that.

The early morning winds are beginning to pick up, the sun providing scarce warmth as it’s hidden low behind the trees that line the street. Cas’ main focus at the moment is making it into his car and speeding to the comfort of his own home. After an uneventful day like this, his tired and drained state is merely because of the length of his shift.

His head hangs low, allowing the chilled air to nip at his exposed neck. He notices that his atmosphere is rather mellow, a lonesome car driving by every other minute or so. It feels like the world hasn’t quite woken up yet, and Cas has already recycled an entire day.

Keys jingling in his pocket, he rounds the corner to the street his car is parked on without looking up. Knowing now that it was a mistake, he hears his own name ring out further down the road.

Cas’ clenches his fist around the jagged metal of his car keys as Dean calls his name a second time after receiving no recognition or attention whatsoever. Deciding that he isn’t going to treat the situation like something out of a high school chick flick, he finally looks up to see Dean’s distant figure propped up against the hood of Cas’ car. That was it. Cas keeps his pace steady, aware that if he slowed down or sped up he’d most likely receive a snarky comment about it from Dean when he reached his vehicle.

“What now, Dean.” He mumbles as he inches closer to the green eyed man himself. There wasn’t a sliver of question to his tone, knowing that if he didn’t say anything he’d never be able to get in his car and go.

“Someone’s got their panties in a twist.” Dean chuckles. Cas holds back the urge to roll his eyes at him. Typical.

“I find it funny, Dean, how you seem to have an unnecessary comment about every little thing I do and say.” Cas receives another throaty chuckle from Dean, this time his teeth exposed just slightly as he grins.

“S’that was it seems like, huh? That’s kinda funny, blue eyes.” Dean shifts his weight from one leg to another. Cas is dumbfounded with the fact that an effortless one-liner like that could make him that much more pissed off with Dean. That is, until he notices a flicker of white in the general area of Dean’s hip. His prediction is verified when Dean reaches the cigarette up to his lips and takes a swift drag, his cheekbones jutting out as he inhales.

Cas clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth in growing irritation as he watches Dean continue to smoke right in front of him. His green eyes dance with sheer amusement as he looks back at Cas.

“Can you just,” Cas pauses, giving himself a second to retain the only calmness he has left, “let me get in my car, please.”

Cas’ eyes are closed now, as he awaits Dean’s response. He can feel Dean watching his eyelids as he exhales once again, the smoke filling Cas’ nose. Discomfort suddenly rises in the pit of Cas’ stomach, as the all too familiar scent clouds his airways.

The fire is the last thing he needs to think about right now, as it would easily break the barrier of emotions he is trying so hard to cover up. Cas can’t afford to let Dean notice his sudden teeter in emotion, so he is forced to hold his breath, right at the base of his diaphragm.

“You can’t leave yet, why do you think I was waiting here for you?” Dean shakes his head with a puzzled yet still amused look on his face. Cas eyes snap open due to newly awoken impatience, yet he continues to calmly and collectively wait for Dean to get on with whatever it was that he was planning to do.

In the next few seconds, - which felt like ages, Cas notices - his mind wavers from real time to the fire in the form of all too realistic flashbacks. He hears Emily’s gentle voice, corrupted by the splintering and snapping of burning wood echo in the back of his mind. He remembers his calls out to her meeting the smoke that rose between them, as if they were floating up to the roof, gone completely unheard and useless. He sees his precious little Claire, her beautiful face hidden under Emily’s chin. He imagines himself, pounding viciously and vengefully against the outside of the house after being hauled out by the other fighters, his vision still clouded by black smoke. At the time, he thought that somehow, if he pounded hard enough, the house would collapse down on him, so the fire could take him too.

The flashbacks are numbing and persistent, too striking to ignore. Cas hadn’t realized the air was thick with silence until Dean’s voice met his ears.

“Cas, you gotta let me talk to you about this whole thing. What do you say I take you out tonight? How does dinner sound?”

Cas chokes dryly, thinking it would help reel him away from the memories that were still pulling at his sleeve.

“Dean,” Cas croaks, his lungs squeezing for more air. Cas had to leave, he thought. Now.

“I promise I’ll explain if you just -”

“Dean, not now. I have to go. I can’t do it. I can’t.” Cas finishes his sentence in short breaths as he lugs open the door to his car, which now felt like two tons. The air grew toxic when he got into his car, as if no matter how much oxygen he took in, his lungs still rejected it.  

“Cas, wait! Are you alright?” Dean’s desperate voice travels through the window that had been opened just a crack.

The engine of Cas’ car sputters to life, and at the same time that Dean’s voice is becoming a frustrated yell, four tires are squealing against the asphalt. Cas reverses out of his spot and speeds down the road in the opposite direction, until Dean’s figure and the station disappear from his rearview mirror.

A shaky hand reaches out to turn the dial on the radio, an unfamiliar song flowing out of the speakers instantly after. It’s some alternative rock song, the lead singer’s raspy voice fills Cas’ ears as he comes to a stop at a red light.

Taking his hands off the wheel momentarily, he runs both of them through his hair, inhaling deeply through his nose and out through gritted teeth. He slams the palm of his hand against the steering wheel in defeat, realizing that he fucked up multiple times throughout the duration of his first day back on the job. How was he supposed to deal with this pain? Especially while saving those who could soon be in danger, how was he supposed to put his nagging past behind him for all these days, months, years to come?

The traffic light is now glowing bright green. There aren’t many cars on the road, so at the last minute Cas flips his blicker up, turning right and getting into the lane that would not exactly take him home.

Once in a while, the only way to deal with debilitating pain isn’t necessarily to do things that will make you happy.

When someone told Cas, “focus on the positive, forget about the negative and things will get better.” They didn’t know how he was going to interpret that. Maybe he’ll spend time with loved ones, maybe he’ll punch a hole the size of his head in the wall, either way they’re still completely oblivious. Cas’ approach is quite the contrary. He doesn’t focus on the positive, he just distracts himself from what’s really happening in his life. If that meant intoxicating his senses and letting alcohol take over his every action, then so be it.

He parks in one of the dozens of empty spaces outside of the bar and turns the engine off. Before hopping out he fiddles with his keys, running the metal point up and down his clothed leg mindlessly. He stares out his front window for a while, letting the air settle around him.

It couldn’t be any later than eight in the morning, he guesses, yet it feels like a whole additional day had elapsed since he got in his car. Time has no meaning at the moment, because it could be eleven in the morning or six in the evening and the feeling coursing through Cas’ body would still be utterly identical. Painful remorse lead on by frustration and anger.

In one brief movement, he sighs sharply and shoves the car door open, just realizing at that moment that he hadn’t had his seatbelt on the entire time.

The need for shelf temperature liquor is evident as Cas slumps into the front door, the heavy wood opening with a creak.

Bars in the early hours of the day were just how you would imagine them: they look a lot more spacious than they are since six eighths of the place is no longer cramped with bodies, instead there’s a couple of miserable drunks hunched over the counter with a beer or glass of whiskey at hand, the bartender from the night before still working until noon, wiping down the counters that were once cluttered with empty cups, bottles and spilled drinks. The smell of booze is oddly thick, more prominent as it’s the smell of it straight from the bottle rather than the smell of it lingering on someone else’s tongue.

Cas shuffles over to the counter, sitting on a corner stool farthest from anyone else.

“What can I get for you, bud?” the bartender asks. The bags under his eyes are reddened, along with the end of his nose and patches across his jaw and neck from being roughly shaven. His greased, thin black hair is beginning to grey, and the faded brown shirt he’s wearing is stained and wrinkled. You would take one look at him and know in that instant that he was meant to work here.

“Your strongest Bourbon would be fantastic right about now.” Cas mumbles through his hands as he rubs his face and eyes of fatigue.

“Rough night?” The guy chuckles as he stalks over to grab the bottle from the middle of the array of bottles.

“Can you tell?” Cas jokes, even though his pounding head ache is pleading for him to stop talking to the man.

“Well, Bourbon at 7:30 in the morning makes it up there, I’ll tell ya that much.” He comments as he pushes the drink towards Cas’ outstretched fingers. The cool glass makes contact with his hand and the caramel colored whiskey swishes back and forth between the ice. The man leaves him be at this point, resuming his post nightlife clean up.

The liquid slides down Cas’ throat quickly as he takes a sip, the oaky smoke taste lingering in every crevice of his mouth. As he continues to down his drink, the ice cubes clink together at the bottom of the rock glass. When he shoots back his last mouthful, he can’t help but connect the taste of the whiskey to the smell of cigarettes.

Before Cas knows it, his mind is wandering to Dean, and the events that had unfolded. The scenes playback in his head like an old film reel, except it didn’t feel like he was watching a film.  Dean had asked Cas out to dinner, after a bullshit excuse for not filling him in on anything that Cas felt he deserved to know about. He shudders at the memory of how he handled the whole situation, choking out his words as he stumbled for his car door. Dean must’ve thought Cas was having a stroke for Christ’s sake. Although it was a horrible way to decline his proposal, it was completely fair for Cas to say no.

No matter how far Dean drove Cas up the wall, oddly enough, he also seemed to be the one to help him back down. But Cas wasn’t going to let that happen this time. Truthfully, Cas wasn’t ready to be helped back down.

Ever since he grabbed Dean’s stupid flannel he had been wearing, he now felt obligated to look out for him. He saved him once, and sometimes once doesn’t cut it.

Cas remembers the way Dean looked at him after he had torn the cigarette from Dean’s lips at the side of the station’s building. He remembers Dean’s speech, about becoming lightless at the shy age of twenty four. The way he watched the stick of tobacco burn as if it were the only illumination that guided his path. Dean was slowly but surely killing himself, which made Cas feel nothing but desire to stop it.

Feeling unsettled, Cas shoves the empty glass of Bourbon out of his hands and folds them behind his head. He leans back and exhales deeply, his eyes drooping with fatigue.

“Want another, buddy?” the bartender huffs, ready to pour a refill.

“Pour two more while you’re at it.” Cas mumbles to the man, managing a thanks as he was passed the couple of glasses.

Cas’ thoughts were more alive than ever, and they were ready to bite him in the arse. He felt unnerved, almost upset within himself. He would now subconsciously beat himself up over the fact that he even feels this way. He couldn’t put that much of himself into something yet, let alone someone - not after all the loss he’s went through. All the pain, it took a huge part out of him. A part that may never fully come back.

Yet, Cas still imagined himself waking up tomorrow morning, driving to work, and expecting a certain man with a permanent smirk and a hand full of retorts to be standing in the locker room, next to the small metal door labeled “Blue Eyes” in his scrawled handwriting.

Cas was baffled, the confusion soon kicking in as he took a fifth, maybe sixth sip of his fourth glass of bourbon. The alcohol was taking its toll on his body, his throat itching with each sip, but Cas was sitting too still to notice the effects it would have on his motor skills. With a blank stare and pursed lips to match, Cas stared forward in deep thought.

Things change. Not like how one would expect upon hearing the word. Not like how the leaves morph from vibrant greens to dead browns and yellows once autumn approaches, or how work uniforms find themselves on the floor and are replaced with nightgowns and exposed skin.

Time changes. Time changes people, places, feelings. As time unravels, these small minuscule tend to go unnoticed. Until the changes catch up with themselves, and the logic you once had, the place you once remembered, or the way you once felt is all gone. This phenomenon is what pressures people to live in the moment. It’s what occurs as time unravels that really counts in the end.

At that moment, it occurs to Cas that there is a surplus amount of alcohol rushing through his system. He scrounges for his wallet in his back pocket, pulls out a twenty and some extra ones for a tip and tosses the wrinkled bills next to his empty glasses.

“Hope you have a ride home, pal!” the bartender calls over as Cas slips off the stool. In less than 3 seconds Cas is attempting to maintain his balance at the same time as he tries to keep his body upright and walking. He couldn’t have been sitting for more than an hour or 2, yet his joints were screaming for movement.

It feels as though his arms and legs are moving before his brain commands them to, like his blood was replaced with molasses. He doesn’t look back, afraid his head might actually fall off of his body as he heads unsteadily for the exit.

Cas pushes out of the not-so-noisy bar with a stumble, nearly tumbling head first off the small step in front of the door. He chuckles as he catches himself, his hands digging deep in the pockets of his jacket.

Its been so long since Cas has gotten drunk, and hell, he was happier than ever. He’s able to keep his mind off of everything that has happened to him, which was all he ever really wanted. Cas knows he’s not aloud to be having more than one beer when he has to go back to the station at seven tonight, but he’s too wasted to even bother caring.

It makes a laugh bubble in Cas’ throat as he stumbles home on the side of the street, his car forgotten in the parking lot because at least he knows not to drink and drive. Cas is a mixture between a sad drunk, or a happy and bubbly drunk. He isn’t completely incompetent when it came to knowing his limits.

The street isn’t overly busy at around nine o’clock in the morning -really, Cas isn’t actually sure what time it was. He knows that they got back to the station at around seven thirty, but that was all he knew.

Cas shakes his head with a grin, his eyes lifted up at the sky as he wobbled along the side of the street, avoiding cars and laughing when they come close to hitting him.

“Hey, you,” Cas hears, and he stops walking to turn toward the voice. “Are you drunk at nine o’clock in the morning?”

Cas snorts at the man, his voice somewhat familiar to him. Maybe if he wasn’t so drunk, he’d know where he’s heard his voice before. He’s standing near the edge of the parking lot to a grocery store, leaning his back against his sleek jet black Range Rover. He has a sly grin on his lips, his hands buried deep into the pockets of his pea coat as he awaits Cas’ answer.

“Why does everyone keep bothering me with the same question?” Cas demands as he stops walking completely, turning toward the odd man. “I can drink whenever I want at whatever time I want, and I don’t need a bartender and.. and fucking Count Dracula questioning my choices.”

“Count Dracula? It’s the pea coat and my dark hair, isn’t it?” the man questions with a small chuckle.

Cas just nods his head, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes like he used to do when he was younger. His hands are still in his pockets, and he’s waiting for the man to either say something else or stop looking at him.

Instead, the man moves to retrieve something from the pocket of his pea coat, and oddly enough he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He holds them up to Cas with a small grin, showing the pack to him.

“These say Marlboro, yes, but they actually aren’t,” the man tells Cas, and he immediately perks up in question at his statement. “The nicotine is no longer in it, I’ve replaced it with something else.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Cas eyes the pack suspiciously as the man’s arm moves. Suddenly, the cigarette pack is being tossed toward him, and Cas catches it once it hits his chest.

“What’s in them?” he asks, looking at the pack suspiciously as he shakes it a bit to hear what was inside.

“That’s the enjoyment of smoking them, my friend. You don’t know what’s in them.” the man chuckles, tossing a lighter in Cas’ direction as well which he surprisingly catches.

Dean smokes, Jeffery smoked, what was so wrong about letting Cas smoke too? He swore he’d never smoke, but then again, if his life was truthfully going downhill he might as well try new things, right?

“I don’t need to pay you for these?” Cas asks, pulling a single cigarette from the pack. The man just snorts, his head shaking as he looks down at his shoes.

“No, there’s no need to pay me. I know a friend of yours, he likes them, so you must.”

Cas’ head snaps back up at that, confusion pouring from his expression for what seems like the tenth time in the past five minutes. Who could the man possibly know? He has little to no friends here, the only one he knows being Dean.

“Before you ask, no, I will not tell you who it is that I know. Run along now, darling.” the man drawls, and Cas makes sure to start walking immediately after the man shoos him off.

The last thing Cas needed was to get into trouble.

He supposes that maybe if he was sober, he wouldn’t have accepted the pack and thought about what it would do to him instead. The man said that they didn’t contain nicotine, however, so there was something else in there that Cas didn’t know about. It didn’t feel like he was actually smoking then, if it wasn’t real nicotine.

Cas stumbles around a rather large crack in the sidewalk, as he twirls the single cigarette between two fingers as he walks. He wants to light it up, figure out what’s in it, because what does he have to lose? Sure, he could lose his job at the station, but would that really be so bad?

Who’s there to miss him?

With a small grin, Cas places the cigarette butt between his cold and chapped lips, holding it still with his teeth as he fumbles with the lighter. Slowly, Cas starts up the lighter and brings it up to the cigarette, lighting it up. Jesus Christ, he’s really doing this.

With a single inhale, it hits Cas light a freight train what the cigarette contained. It was some sort of a drug, because as soon as he coughed out the smoke, it did not at all smell like cigarette smoke.

He takes the pack out with his free hand, the other holding the cigarette as he flips the pack open. Cas moves his head down and grabs the end of the cigarette between his teeth, pulling it from the pack since he didn’t have another free hand. He shoves the pack into his pocket, before turning the fresh cigarette around.

Cas places the lit cigarette back between his lips, holding it there so he can inspect the fresh one. He digs his nail into it and pulls, causing the cigarette to tear apart so he can see what’s inside. Wrapped up in the cigarette paper is not nicotine, but cannabis.

The man put marijuana in Cas’ cigarette.

If he were sober and actually gave a shit about his wellbeing, Cas would’ve spit the cigarette out of his mouth without a second thought and ditched the whole pack. Though as of now, all Cas did was grin around the marijuana filled cigarette, enjoying the feeling of his burning lungs.

He takes another large drag, his index and middle finger coming up to pull the cigarette from his lips as he exhales. The smell is new and fresh, something Cas enjoys much more than he’s ever enjoyed anything after the fire. It makes him feel rebellious, yet stupid, and happy all at the same time.

Cas finishes another three cigarettes by the time he reaches his house, which both have been tossed into the neighbor’s yard followed by his loud laughter because boy, when his neighbor finds out, she’s in for a treat.

He drops his keys a total of four times between his fits of giggles, and he only laughs even harder when he unlocks the door and pushes himself in, stumbling with how fast the door opened. Cas takes his jacket off and tosses it onto the ground, before shoving both shoes off and tossing them by the stairs.

He staggers over to the couch and plops down right in front of it, leaning forward toward the TV console to turn on the xbox his brother Gabriel bought him when he moved in. By the words of his brother, the xbox is strictly for, “When you want to blow shit up or shoot things and can’t in real life.”

He shoves the game Zombie Army Trilogy into the xbox, and grabs a controller quickly before pushing his back up against the couch. With a grin a mile wide, Cas sets it up and begins playing the game, which he hasn’t played in what seems like forever.

The last time he played was when he first moved in and Gabrielbought the game for him. They played to their hearts content, because Cas was angry at the world after Emily and Claire died, so he decided shooting the shit out of zombies was better than shooting real people.

After his first shot to the head of a zombie, followed by a loud cheer, there’s a knock at the door. Rolling his eyes, Cas pauses the game and turns towards the door.

“If this is one of those porno set ups where the twenty year old girl scout knocks on the door, asking if the man would like to buy her girl scout cookies, then go away! I’m not sexually attracted to anyone anymore, that stuff is bullshit and people don’t stick around anyway!” Cas yells at the door, and the knocking stops, though he hears someone cackling behind the door.

“But please, baby, please open the door! I have ginger snaps!” a voice calls from the other side, and it’s clear that whoever is behind it is a man, though is imitating a woman’s voice.

“You can take your ginger snaps and give them to another porn star!” Cas retorts with an angry huff, before standing up on shaky legs to wander over to the door.

When he tugs it open, Dean is standing their with a pleased expression on his face, a tinfoil wrapped bowl sitting in the palms of his hands. “Well hey, I’m surprised you didn’t walk out with a sign that says No more pornos.”

It wasn’t funny, not at all, but for some reason Cas bursts out into a fit of laughter that soon drifts into snorts. He has to place his hand over his mouth and nose to keep himself contained, only taking large breaths through his fingers from then on.

Dean’s face twists into confusion, and before Cas knows it Dean is stepping into his house and setting the bowl down on a table close to the door. The lights flicker on, making Cas grimace as he glares at the man for flipping the switch.

Fingers are gripping at his cheeks next, and Dean’s face is mere inches away from his own, green eyes staring intently at him. Cas tries looking away - even tries closing his eyes, just to ensure that Dean doesn’t know he’s as high as a kite.

The last thing he wants is to be touched by Dean, the one who practically made him drink his heart out at the bar because he’d asked him out. Then again, he also wanted to bathe in the man’s warmth like any other goddamn time they touched, and really, Cas has never been more frustrated in his life.

“Stop looking away,” Dean mumbles as he pries Cas’ eye open with his thumb, searching his most likely red eyes for a sign that he’s high. Once Dean has his confirmation, he drops Cas’ hands and gives him a firm look, one he can’t turn away from.

“Cas. For two seconds, sober up for me. Why the hell are you high?” Dean asks in a low tone, and Cas just gives him a small grin.

“Why the hell aren’t you high?”

Dean’s face grows hard, his eyes not leaving Cas’ as he holds out his hand. “I want whatever you’ve been smoking, or snorting, or whatever you’ve been doing. Hand it over.”

Cas laughs for a few beats, head thrown back as he laughs to his heart’s content. He hasn’t laughed this much since he was twenty four, maybe younger. It must be contagious, because he sees an unmistakable grin rise on Dean’s face, as Cas staggers over to his leather jacket to retrieve the cigarettes. It wasn’t like he needed them much anymore, plus, maybe Dean could smoke with him.

He leans down toward where he tossed his jacket on the ground, and quickly regrets how fast he went down because he hits his forehead on the corner of the wall near the stairs. A small groan of pain escapes his lips, and he holds his palm to his throbbing forehead as he picks up his jacket off the ground.

Cas reaches in both pockets and digs around, before pulling out the pack of cigarettes he was given and hands them over to Dean. As soon as he opens up the pack, Dean’s eyes grow wide.

“Dammit, Cas,” he mutters, hands clutching the pack so hard that Dean’s knuckles are turning white. His eyes are glazed over with a large amount of worry, almost as though he knows who gave the pack to Cas. He doesn’t ask, however.

“Don’t you ever take a goddamn pack of cigarettes again. The guy who gave you these, you don’t want to get involved with.”

With a shrug, Cas moves back down in front of the couch and plops down, grabbing the xbox controller.

“If you wanted some for yourself, all you had to do was ask, princess.” Cas snorts, his eyes wandering up to meet Dean’s as he fumbles with his controller. Dean merely rolls his eyes and sets the pack down next to the tinfoil wrapped bowl he brought over, and he grabs it before walking over to Cas.

Dean crouches down in front of him with a shy look, which is odd because Cas has never seen him act shy. He’s rough and tough, or angry - mainly angry. He seems to have brushed off the anger from earlier, though.

“I made you, uh.. I made you macaroni and cheese, that’s why I came over. It’s all I had in my apartment, so.. don’t laugh.” Dean says with a small chuckle, pulling the tinfoil back to reveal the semi warm macaroni and cheese. It isn’t just regular macaroni and cheese, but Teenage Ninja Turtle shaped noodles.

“You made me turtle noodles?” Cas asks with a knowing grin, despite Dean’s flushed face. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean offers a small smile and a nod. “I made them as an apology for asking you out to dinner. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that, I just wanted to talk everything out with you.”

No, he shouldn’t have. Cas knows that for certain, even with his utterly wasted and high mind, he knows. Dean drove him to drinking, but so did many other things. Cas’ life is practically a never ending rollercoaster of emotions that only plummets him deeper and deeper into sadness and remorse.

“Did you know that my uncle just so happens to be a Ninja Turtle?” Cas supplies with a sharp chuckle as he accepts the bowl from Dean, wanting to change the subject. He snuggles himself back against the couch as he looks down at the bowl, then at Dean. His face is twisted between confusion and amusement.

“His name is Raphael. He sort of looks like a Ninja Turtle, too, he’s just missing the green skin and a turtle shell on his back.” Cas explains as he looks back down at the macaroni, and makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat. He picks up a noodle between his forefinger and thumb, looking at it as he attempts to decipher which of the Ninja Turtles it is. He can’t tell which one it is, so Cas shrugs and plops the noodle into his mouth without a second thought.

“Christ, well aren’t you the nicest guy in your family. If I called my uncle a Ninja Turtle, he’d whoop my ass,” Dean comments with a small chuckle as he watches Cas eat the macaroni and cheese with his fingers. “Dude, really? You’re high, you aren’t incompetent. I’ll go get you a spoon.”

Cas watches Dean’s back all the way into the kitchen, until he hears silverware rattling around. He snorts as he picks up another few noodles between his five fingers, dropping them all into his mouth. “Correction, I’m drunk and high!”

“You’re just a rebellious little guy, aren’t ya? Smoking cannabis and getting drunk all before noon? While we also have a shift tonight?” Dean muses as he wanders out of the kitchen, fork in hand. “That’s my kind of guy.”

Cas’ eyes wander up to Dean as he stops in front of him, holding out the spoon he retrieved. With a grin, he takes the spoon from Dean’s grip and offers a serious expression, eyes squinted just a bit.

“Gosh, Dean. Don’t you think this is all a little too sudden? Asking me to spoon with you?”

It had to be at least the tenth time Cas has bursted out laughing since Dean showed up, because his head is pushed back against the couch, mouth ajar as he laughs to his heart's content. He can see Dean’s tomato red face through squinted eyes from laughing so hard.

Dean’s lips crack into an embarrassed smile as he looks down at Cas, a small laugh escaping his lips while he shakes his head. “Scoot up, jackass, and hand me a remote.”

Cas pushes the spoon into the macaroni as he scoots up, grabbing a second controller off the TV console for Dean. The green eyed man glides his jacket off and tosses it onto the back of the couch, before settling down on the floor just behind Cas. His legs settle on either side of Cas, and when he looks back, Dean is grinning at him.

Not knowing what to do, Cas grins back and scoots toward Dean until his back is pressed into the man’s chest. He sets the macaroni on his lap as Dean’s legs close around him, locking him in place so he’s sitting just between them.

“Listen, I’m not big on cuddling or any shit like that. But you seem like you’ve had a rough day, and, uh.. I don’t know. Just no snuggling.” Dean says in Cas’ ear as he takes his controller, switching it on.

Cas leans to the side a bit and tilts his head up so he can look at Dean, a somewhat pleading expression on his face. Feeling Dean’s arms around him would certainly make a lot of things better, just to be comforted in the warm embrace and safety that he provides. He wanted to get away from Dean earlier, but now, he just wanted to soak up every little piece of Dean that he had to offer.

He let out a soft sigh, and Cas felt two strong arms wrap around his waist, Dean’s hands holding onto the controller as he rests it on Cas’ lap.

Cas looks back at the TV and sets the bowl of macaroni aside, picking up his own remote while he grins to himself. He shifts a bit in Dean’s arms, settling back against the man’s chest before unpausing the game.

**“I hope you know what you’re in for, Cas, because I’m about to kick your high ass all the way back to the bar.”  
**


End file.
